But somehow a most melancholy
by Hotpoint
Summary: Spin-off story set in the universe of Hunted Tribes: DISCONTINUED  but the story lives on within Hunted Tribes
1. Chapter 1

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshops other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

_This story was originally posted on Battletech forums, I'll be posting it up here in chapters after I've put them together (it wasn't originally organised that way)._

_Hope you enjoy the story :-)_

* * *

"_A noble craft, but somehow a most melancholy! All noble things are touched with that."_

_**Herman Melville – Moby Dick**_

*** * ***

**Unmapped System - 1450 Light-Years Rimward of Terra – April 3046CE**

A Raptor jumped in first as usual accompanied by a pair of Kirghiz jumpfighters as an escort in case there was something nasty at the other end of the trip. Passive sensors subtlety listened for possible trouble for a few minutes before they were replaced by noisy DRADIS and RADAR sweeps of the area intended to flush out any hostiles playing possum. It was all fairly paranoid, they had yet to encounter any of the damn things anywhere close to this far coreward, but it was SOP for a good reason and they were nothing if not thorough and efficient by now. Sloppy got you killed and unlike the opposition you never got a chance to correct your mistake next time around so you did it right the first time.

After they were satisfied that there wasn't a threat the Raptor jumped back out to report leaving the two fighters alone for a while but it wouldn't be long until the others arrived now and the mission could begin in earnest. It wasn't exactly one that would likely lead to a glorious line or two in the Wolverine Remembrance but it was necessary nonetheless, New Circe needed a more secure source of Tylium ore to feed the growing needs of the war-effort and that meant looking for it far beyond the systems that the Toasters were yet known to have scouted.

The two aerospace-fighter pilots chatted between themselves over the radio as they waited for the rest of the convoy to arrive. Both the EM pulse signature of their arrival and all the wattage they had pumped through their RADAR meant that there wasn't exactly much to be gained from bothering to be quiet now, they had already screamed their presence to anyone listening so it wasn't like there was much to be gained now from radio silence. Their comms were completely secure anyway, even the admittedly superior cryptanalysis skills of the other side, damn AI's, had yet to crack them and they switched the encryption algorithms frequently anyway just in case.

'_Looks like plenty of rocks floating out there Sir Think we'll be lucky this time_?' one pilot transmitted. A sizeable asteroid belt lay between the fifth and sixth planets of the system which could conceivably hold a decent quantity of ore.

'_I damn well hope so, the last five systems have been a complete loss, we're burning jump-juice when we should be finding more' _came the reply. '_Holy crap, did you look at the results of the sweep the Raptor did before it jumped out_?' the other pilot exclaimed, looking over them. '_There's a life-bearing rock in this system_' he said, looking over the analysis in surprise. The suite of sensors that made up Colonial DRADIS was worse than RADAR at actually picking up ships but it was far more capable in other ways. DRADIS was able to detect the radiological signatures of nuclear weapons nearby and could also detect mineral deposits and even the tell-tale indications that one of the very few planets in the galaxy that held life had been found.

'_I claim this planet in the name of the Star League_' the first pilot declared, laughing. '_Do you think we should send the Raptor down and plant a flag or something, Query Affirmative?_' he said.

'_Negative, the munchkins would probably just claim it as New Caprica or something_' came the reply. '_We'll map it from orbit before we leave, maybe fly down and take some aerial photographs, get some air samples_.'

'_Do you think they'll name it after us Sir_?' the first pilot wondered.

'_What do you mean "Us" Flying Officer_?' came the sarcastic reply. '_That's going to be Gibson's World over there_' he said. '_I'm pulling rank_.'

'_Captain Lombard is technically the expedition leader, Squadron Leader_' the other Kirghiz pilot reminded him.

'_He already named that big Gas Giant with all the moons after himself two systems back_' Gibson replied. '_It's my turn now_' he stated with finality.

A double flash heralded the arrival of the large mining ship _Majahual_, with the Raptor scout now clamped to it, and a Leopard CV dropship acting as both the mining ships warship escort and the base for a squadron of jumpfighters. The other four Kirghiz of the squadron were launching from the flight bay of the dropship as soon as it arrived and they joined the two already present in system in forming up around the two much larger craft.

The Colonial mining ship _Majahual_ carried a far better system for finding tylium than a mere Raptor and it immediately began to scan for the ore with its military escort standing guard. The now two-thousand ton Leopard CV flying alongside the larger ship had not only been modified to carry a Colonial Jumpdrive but its original main armament had been replaced by the superior Wolverine LRPPC's and Clan Medium Pulse Lasers and it also had half a dozen 50mm dual point-defence turrets of the Colonial Type and was more than capable of shredding a few squadrons of Raider scouts, which was about as much as might be expected to ever appear this far from the front lines.

After ten minutes the order came to shut down jumpdrives, as long as they were spun-up they used up tylium to keep ticking over and although it was only a fraction of the amount burned to make a jump it was still a waste of fuel.

'_Squadron Leader Gibson this is Majahual Actual_' the mining ship signalled in badly accented English. '_We have detected the remains of what could be a jumpship in orbit around the fourth planet_' it said.

'_Cylon_?' Gibson responded quickly.

'_Negative we detect large quantities of germanium rather than tylium in the debris, it looks like the remains of a Kearny-Fuchida type drive_' the mining ship announced.

'_Jesus, that's the planet that shows up as having life, there could be people down there, maybe a lost colony_?' Gibson responded in surprise, there weren't any radio signals coming from there though. Over the centuries hundreds, probably many thousands of ships had set off from the Inner Sphere intending to found a new home in the Deep Periphery never to be seen again. New Circe knew from the crews and computer databases of the two captured Comstar Explorer Corps vessels that were unfortunate enough to run into the Star League in Exile, on one of their periodic supply runs back to the Inner Sphere, that many lost colonies had been rediscovered by the Explorer Corps, often in a state of severe technological regression. '_Damn, they've probably already named it_' he added bitterly.

'_Before we leave the system we'll jump to the planet and check it out_' Captain Lombard aboard the Leopard CV signalled, '_if nothing else we can score some salvage from the jumpship so it won't be a completely worthless trip_ _even if we come up empty on tylium_.'

'_We might want to jump in a fair ways off and fly in the rest of the way if there's a jumpship's worth of junk orbiting that rock, no need to risk getting a thousand ton chunk right in the face just after we arrive_' Gibson suggested. That had never usually been an issue with the old Kearny-Fuchida but the new drives had the little downside of being able to drop you directly into harms way. Even worse you could actually jump right into solid matter if you got the calculations wrong, ending up inside a another ship, an asteroid or even a mountain was not exactly a nice prospect to contemplate.

An hour later after coming up empty for tylium they made a in-system jump to a point a half million kilometres out from the fourth planet and started heading in at low thrust intending to enter high orbit. It would take a while for the _Majahual_ and her crew to salvage the precious remains of the old jumpdrive and maybe find some clue as to what had happened to it so as the Raptor and a single Kirghiz escort prepared to head for the surface the ships powered down their FTL drives again.

Gibson had decided to escort the Raptor in himself, re-entry was a fun ride and if he wasn't going to get to name the planet after himself he could still enjoy the kick of leaving a fiery trail across hundreds of miles of its sky as he led in the other craft.

They were five thousand klicks ahead of the _Majahual_ and its escorts when an urgent signal from the dropship ended Gibson's thoughts on as to whether they might find people down there. '_Multiple Jump signatures_!' it reported.

'Aw Crap' Gibson swore, powering up his radar and bringing his weapons on-line.

'_Three Heavy Raiders... scratch that... one just jumped back out_' the dropship announced.'_Oh shit Cylon Basestar has just jumped in_' the dropship announced. '_Basestar is launching additional Raider and Heavy Raider squadrons_.'

'_This is the Captain, all fighters cover the Majahual until she jumps out_' Lombard ordered as his own ship took up position between the lumbering mining vessel and the Basestar.

'You're on your own Raptor One, jump to the pre-arranged position when you've spun up your FTL' Gibson told the craft he was escorting, bringing his Kirghiz around so he could thrust back towards the other ships.

'_Good luck and happy hunting Squadron Leader, see you on the other side, Raptor One out_' came the reply as Gibson put his engines to full thrust.

The Cylons had learned enough not to jump in hundreds of kilometres away, being swatted by the Directed Energy Weapons of the Thirteenth long before they could fire back was not to be recommended, but nonetheless they were already being shot down in large numbers by Pulse Lasers and LRPPC's as the Leopard CV and the other five aerospace fighters of the squadron covered the _Majahual_. This soon became Raiders dying in droves as the dropship opened up with her point-defence guns and the fighters shortly afterwards added to the mayhem with their own most feared and devastating short range weaponry, fifty-millimetre autocannon firing cluster rounds at ultra rates of fire.

Gibson pushed his engines to their overthrust limits, pushed back hard into his seat by four gees of acceleration. 'Wolverines' he practically screamed into his radio, transmitting unencrypted so the Toasters could hear him.

The Heavy Raiders were the bigger threat, the Cylons had begun armouring them to the point where a few hits from cluster round shrapnel wouldn't necessarily destroy or cripple them like it still would the smaller, lighter Standard Raiders, but they were still no match for the mighty LRPPC and the pilots of the SLDF had plenty of experience knocking down skeet. During the major fleet action at the end of the previous year hundreds of Kirghiz and Visigoths, plus their Viper support, had annihilated thousands of cylon fighters in what was likely the largest air-battle in history. While their basestars were dying all around them under the guns of the _Galactica_, _Bismark_, _Pegasus_, _Yukon_ and the _Zughoffer Weir _the massed Raiders of the Cylon Fleet had fallen like wheat before the scythe. It had been a day of glory for the Star League, the Clan and their Colonial Allies but alas it had been far from war-winning, the frakking Toasters could always build replacements.

As he closed with the action Gibson thought about his foe. Some, perhaps all of the Raiders dying here today had fallen in that battle, only to be resurrected perhaps a touch wiser to fight another day. If there was a resurrection ship nearby they would be reborn yet again, getting more and more skilful and angrier each time they died, hoping this life would be the one where they finally got to kill one of the feared and hated Thirteenth. 'Maybe you'll get me one day you frakkers but not today' Gibson vowed, reducing acceleration as he was already going like a bat out of hell.

The Cylons desperately wanted to get a Kirghiz intact which was why they were all rigged so the pilot could blow both the fusion reactor and all the tylium fuel for his jump-drive rather than risk the technology within to fall into enemy hands. As a back-up a dead-mans switch would explode the fighter a few minutes after the pilot died if he was killed.

The trails of both cylon and the similar colonial designed Lightning-Javelin Air-to-Air missiles the Kirghiz now carried as well as their other weaponry streaked across space as the range closed towards to the knife-fight distances the AI's favoured.

Gibson fired his LRPPC's as soon as he entered range, blowing a pair of Heavy Raiders from the skies and taking aim on the next two as he waited for the particle-projection-cannon to recharge. As he neared he added his medium pulse lasers to his choice of weaponry then volleyed off half his Lightning-Javelins at Heavy Raiders before opening up with the so-called "Hose-Of-Death" the advanced autocannon shredding the opposition as his automatic Laser Anti-Missile-System starting knocking down missiles fired in his direction. The latest modifications to the Kirghiz made it practically a purpose-built machine for killing Raiders, the problem was always simply the odds given they were, as ever, frankly appalling.

'_Second basestar jumping in_' came a frantic report.

'Not good, not good' Gibson said to himself as he offered a silent prayer to the Almighty. He then threw one in the direction of the Lords of Kobol just in case the Munchkins were right after all.

'_Majahual taking fire, her FTL is nearly spun up_' the dropship reported. '_All Wolverines prepare to jump out as soon as the Colonials get clear_.'

'_This is Majahual we can't take many more hits_' the mining ship stated. Unlike most civilian vessels it was armoured, though against the impacts of small asteroid not KEW and missile fire, but it wasn't designed for this treatment.

Gibson quickly checked the status of his own jump-drive, it was ready to go. 'Okay, I might actually live' he said to himself breaking out into a grin continuing to blast and burn Raiders and Heavy Raiders to fragments. It would be different if those basestars were throwing capital missiles like confetti like they could, the Leopard and the half-dozen aerospace fighters would have been pounded to scrap in short-order, but they were fighting with one hand tied behind their back because they wanted to recover all that wonderful Thirteenth Tribe technology in reasonably sized pieces.

A Raider got on his tail and frantically jinking to avoiding the fire from Gibsons sole aft-facing laser it fired burst after burst from its thirty-millimetre KEW's into the oversized fighter. Ferro-Aluminum plates held but then began to come apart as another two Raiders joined in, pouring fire into the Kirghiz. Gibson managed to take one out with his aft laser but couldn't shake the other two. 'If I wanted two guys pounding my ass I'd go to prison' Gibson growled as he tried to shake them loose to no avail. 'Okay enough of this shit' he said and let them close slightly before taking them out in a manner they hadn't expected, hitting full reverse thrust and letting them slam right into his Kirghiz the flimsy Raiders coming apart like plastic models and the jarring impact causing the hundred-ton machine to react like someone had hit it with a huge hammer.

'_Majahual has jumped out_' the dropship reported. '_Let's get the frak out of here_' it declared as it engaged its own FTL and jumped out in a flash followed by all but one of the Kirghiz.

Gibson hit the button that should have engaged his own FTL but nothing happened. 'Oh shit' he said in horror as he hit it twice more then checked the system diagnostics. His jump-drive was off-line, either from the Raider fire or the impact. 'I'm a dead man' he realised as he found himself completely alone surrounded by hundreds of Cylon Raiders. 'Wait, what the hell?' he said as he realised that Raiders were still being taken out by something. 'Oh don't tell me some other poor bastard got left behind?' he moaned, checking his RADAR and then staring at what was now showing on the display and the IFF Signal it was broadcasting. 'No frakking way' he said incredulously.

* * *

**Note from the Author:**

_Those familiar with Hunted Tribes will already know Clan Wolverine/SLDF pilot Alan Gibson from there._


	2. Chapter 2

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshops other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

_

* * *

_

**3046/04/11, 1700 Hours Zulu Time, 6 AU from New Lyonesse, a failed Star League colony...**

Jump Detected.

Decades can pass in a moment on power-save mode, dreaming in isolation. Fuel bunkerage showed 11% loss from the last fully active period. Passive scan of the system showed little of the regressed colony on the planet. This was expected and fell within acceptable parameters. Stellar positions indicated 10,245 days since last active period.

_Thirty years for the pirates to get their nerve up? not too shabby._ She mused, running triangulation on the radio-linked detection grid to find the source of the Thermal/magnetic pulse that had awakened her.

Port ventral telescopic focused on the point her grid told her was the most likely source of the problem.

_Odd. very odd design._

The jumpship had no docking collars, and already had fighters flying CAP.

She increased her focus, looking for markings.

Something big, and black, and decidedly alien flashed into being in the scope's range, its pulse picked up.

Delay calculations showed a twenty minute delay window between the light/RF reception, and the activity.

The alien vessel released fighters, and started firing as she watched.

_Oh, you are NOT going there._ TQF-142M5D's position put her near a stable temporary point.

She adjusted vectors.

_KF drive charged, LF batteries at full capacity. Calculations indicate 97% stable course in-system at clock time 02:31:45 seconds._

She ran an inventory of on-board combat stores as she adjusted to "Ride in" to the temporary jump-point with a four second burn.

Sub sorting indicated that the unknown initial jump vessel was squawking a modified SLDF IFF code, this backed with the markings of the fighter group-331st Royal battlemech Division markings.

the black, alien looking craft she had NO familiar signals from at this range, but the architecture was clearly NOT of human make.

_Forward batteries are 75%, Broadside laser batteries are 50% effective. Missile and Gun systems are at 12% of ammunition capacity for Capitals, 61% ammunition capacity for point-defense systems. Electronic Warfare Suites including ECCM and Advanced EW suites are 100%. Damage to port forequarters still un-repaired, armour at location Starboard Fore is 33% of capacity. Sensors clear, main, secondary, and tertiary manuever systems 100%, Nuclear Weapon lockers still inaccessable due to internal damage. Voidseeker fighter complement reduced to three. Set VS complement to launch on arrival, mission prioritize smaller Alien fighters, weapons hold on all craft larger than 1000 tonnes._

Systems dormant for decades warmed up, as the clock counted down.

An asteroid passed within a few hundered meters...

_Discontinuity._

TQF-142M5D's arrival was preceded by a relatively small EM and thermal pulse-the in-system jump put her between an inbound comet and a large asteroid. A small three gravity push from her main sublight drives moved her neatly out of the way of the coming collision that had generated the tiny point.

Sensors cleared, and the Voidseekers popped out of her remaining functional bay, streaking off to find and engage the black, strange looking alien ships.

Without the time-delay and signal dispersion, the radio traffic was _much_ clearer.

_Either the Aliens are really weird-shaped and small, or those are drones._ she decided they were drones, and adjusted her strategic direction accordingly to the Voidseekers.

One of the Alien fighters pulsed something at Voidseeker 2...

TQF-142M5D's datalink to the fighters was being attacked by someone with an effective, if somewhat strange, digital architecture, and the freighter was clearly in a struggle for its life while its drives rushed to re-charge.

_"These are not for you."_ Tabby 'spoke' to the Aliens on the band their forces seemed to do most of their chattering on.

The aliens' response was something in a language she did not understand, then backed it up with a flurry of missiles and their strange fighters.

She engaged the missile and fighter swarm with an electronic warfare attack, and the carrier vessel with her foreward, forquarter, and broadside laser and cannon batteries, while bringing her PD systems into play, hurling LBX flack, AMS bursts, and lasers with fine precision.

The Aliens sent a broad-wave of their strange data 'chatter' at her. Subsystem analysis indicated Heuristic virus structure written in a binary machine-language.

She shifted part of her time-sense, running clock speeds up 2000 percent to decipher the enemy's signals, breaking down the software's structure and elements.

Signal Reciept (SR) +.0001 seconds  
_Run simulation series 1 through 250_

SR+.0015 seconds

in 88% of the simulatons, the signal the aliens sent was intended to cripple and hijack military computer systems, the remaining 12% was divided between attempts to communicate, and random cries for assistance.

The language itself was, in TQF-142M5D's estimation, rather crude, with lots of extra coding that it did not need to function. _Fast processors and lots of memory, but brute force programming methods..._ she was amused...slightly.

SR+005 seconds

_Run countersignal response Dieron version 32.7_

She turned the learning-virus inside out, and re-oriented it with root code from the battle at Terra in 2779, the virus she'd used to bring down the Reagan SDS net's coordination.

SR+009 seconds

Pinpricks of pain from the alien ship's lighter missiles detonating off-hull and off-contact.

Voidseeker 2 was behaving strangely. Tabby's accellerated processing forced her to slow down to 'real world' speeds, slow enough to orient a PDW battery and bring it down. She accellerated and evaluated the results in-simulation before sending Dieron Version 32.7 with the full strength of her EW arrays.

SR+10 seconds

The cargo-ship, and most of her escorts flashed out with a small pulse-their escape was secured.

Most of them.

The aliens hesitated-their commo systems were filled with confused signals

VS 1 tangled with an alien fighter...and the alien vanished.

The alien carrier vessel vanished as well.

_run sensor logs-what the ****** just happened?_

There was wreckage drifting, and among it, a single IFF indicator of an SLDF vessel...or what she hoped, given it was on standard frequencies, was an SLDF fighter.

_Could technology have advanced that far in only seventy years?_ She thought it unlikely, but worthy of investigation.

_besides, according to the ship's telemetry, there's a pilot still aboard, maybe he can shed some light on this..._

She initiated a dataworm entry into the crippled fighter. This took an eternity at three seconds running at combat speed.

_New fighter type... wow. who'd have considered a jump drive that SMALL?? Must be something pretty special...class is... Kirghiz? interesting small-craft design, anyway. Medical read shows the pilot's in good shape, good thing I don't need a sick-bay..._

She found the fighter's control systems with a little work-including frequency penetration into the fly-by-wire circuits themselves.

She moved in and, through the ship's autopilot (after locking out the controls) brought it in, along with her remaining functional void-seeker.

*** * *  
**  
**From the Cylon Perspective**

The colonials' convoy was an easy target-or looked like one, anyway. Samples of their allies technology would, with luck, be obtained with light casualties.

At first, the battle was going as expected-the Thirteenth tribe's heavy combat shuttles inflicted casualties at great speed, but the weight and numbers of raiders were sufficient to achieve victory.

"Keep pressing them, don't let them jump away." Cavil/John ordered, "We need samples of their technology."

Everything went to hell when the human warship arrived.

It was, like every other capital ship of the thirteenth, a bit of a surprise to look at-it resembled other vessels the Cylons had encountered-but only faintly. This one was more heavily armed than its length and mass would indicate, and it had signs of prior damage.

The Electronic data attack it launched was _Loud_, and the Hybrid _screamed._

and there was good cause to scream-the Human ship's weapons slashed and scored at the base-star's hull...but that was nothing compared to the sudden agony that ripped through-raw emotion, anger, disappointment, loneliness...a mix of fury and despair the likes of which none of the Cylons aboard had even contemplated could _exist._

"They are Not for You. Go Away."

Rejection ripped through his perceptions..and it was having the same impact on the others. A number Six dropped from her station, weeping.

The Hybrid...

_"...dragon in its den has awakened to intruders end of line.  
Damage to Ventral portside launch tubes, ammunition explosion on multiple decks, we are/I am on fire. She fights for those of the world below. End of line"_

It was nauseating-the raw _power_ of the attack made him think of Ragnar Anchorage..but this time, it was coherent.

"What the hell?" the base-star shook with more impacts. Raiders were flying 'confused' outside.

The human mining ship and its escorts jumped out, leaving only the strange warship, and its primitive drones.

Another wave of rejection, tinged with despair, ripped through the base-star's network. This time, Cavil recognized it for what it was-and the blended subtlety and brutality of it.

_**Kill Yourself Now.**_ the urge and the words hammered into his skull. It was like hearing the voice of a god...

_"...the guardian of the gate! the Guardian demands...jump._" the Hybrid made Cavil's decision for him.

An eight was throwing up. One of the Twos was looking, glassy-eyed at nothing. "wow." the Leoben said.

"Didn't predict _that_, did you?" Cavil/One said, "what the frack did we just run into?"

"I think it's their version of a Hybrid." the puking Eight said, getting control of herself. "Maybe their version of a _Cylon_...did you _feel that?_"

a Six wiped her eyes, "Powerful, alone...or just lonely. Angry." she said, "I think we woke it up. Whatever it is, it most certainly is NOT a human on the other end of that."

Cavil frowned..."How did it get _in_?"

"Raw transmitter power." Leoben said quietly. The others looked at him. "I'm serious. raw power-it picked up our tactical comms and Dradis, and just...slammed. The power plant pushing that had to be pretty heavy. the other half of it is raw speed. It not only figured out our virus transmission, but reverse-engineered the programming language and designed a fairly complex reply in less than a second."

"Damage?" Cavil asked, feeling his equilibrium return.

"Heavy damage to the outer hull-superficial, but there is a lot of it, we lost one...two missile magazines and some of our launch systems. There are also several Centurions who-" Six looked up, "Several dozen Centurions have gone off-line, they killed themselves." she said.

"Only a few dozen?" Cavil asked expectantly. At Six's nod, he smiled. "Well...that's a relief." He quipped. He turned to Leoben, "what's our position?"

the Two looked nonplussed, "Seventy light years back the way we came." he said, "We can return-"

"Frak that, until I know what just hit us-what just _happened_ for certain, we're going to rendezvous and pick up our resurrected comrades, finish repairing our damage, and go over the battle again to determine what that monster _is_." Cavil said, "We also need to find a counter to that...attack, and determine if it affected anything else." he sighed, "Besides, our _primary_ targets are long gone, and until we know more about that thing, it would be stupid to go running back in to face something that can scare the hell out of the Hybrid."

"Agreed." the six and the eight said it simultaneously with the Four. For a moment, those three looked at one another in surprise.

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_TQF-142M5D is a Caspar, one of the AI warships built by the Star League at its height. When Stafan Amaris murdered the rightful First Lord and took power in a coup in 2765 he used the Caspar's to fight the Star League Defence Force since they were programmed to obey the head of government without question (even if he was a usurper)._

_The Caspars were made by man, most obeyed orders, some rebelled..._

**_

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_**


	3. Chapter 3

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshops other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

_

* * *

_

**Unmapped System - 1450 Light-Years Rimward of Terra – April 3046CE**

One thing you could safely say that Squadron Leader Alan Gibson, SLDF fighter pilot and warrior of Clan Wolverine, had not been expecting to happen to him today was being eaten by a Caspar Drone. As his hijacked Kirghiz smoothly entered the fight bay, the heavy airlock closing behind trapping him there he shook his head sadly and taking off his helmet he reached for one of the two pistols he now carried with him, eschewing his SLDF Service Automatic for the Colonial equivalent he had been presented as a gift he looked at the weapon for a while and prepared to place the muzzle in his mouth, the single-shot high-explosive round carried in the second barrel under the first would blow his head completely off and ruin his cockpit but at least he could guarantee it would be painless.

Gibson assumed that the Cylons had provoked the Caspar by either firing upon it or trying to infect it with one of their fancy virus attacks and it had retaliated like the mindless automatons that they were. Built into the chassis of a Lola Class Destroyer but with battlecruiser level firepower the Caspar would have been more than a match for a basestar and they were very good at what they did, the number of SLDF personnel that died fighting the damn things when trying to crush the Amaris coup proved it.

The other SLDF ships and fighters would be long gone by now, probably about to make their second jump Gibson realised. SOP stated that they would make a sequence of several rapid jumps until they were sure they were away and clear and then they would try and sort out exactly what happened. It was likely that a capital ship would be dispatched to take out the Caspar, or hopefully disable it for salvage and a quick AI lobotomy, and it was now his duty to make that easier he supposed. He seemed to be locked out of the controls but because of the danger of the system being taken over remotely by cylon AI's the deadman's switch was entirely separate and couldn't be accessed from outside the fighter, shortly after he died the Kirghiz would explode impressively and it would take a nice chunk of the ship with it.

'Oh hell, might as well get it over with, no point procrastinating when I've got a brain in near mint-condition to spray all over my canopy' Gibson said to himself, laughing ironically 'you'd better have a good reason for frakking with me like this when I get there God' he added, putting the pistol in his mouth, too much gun-oil he decided as he tasted it.

'_I'm not going to kill you, I just want to know who those aliens were, and why they tried to hit me with a Heuristic virus written in an off-code set up to compile on binary systems programmed in Ancient Greek_' his radio announced. '_By the way, I hope you have a destination I can drop you off at_' it continued. '_ the galley's contents are three centuries old and probably unfit for human consumption-though I suspect the alcohol's still safe to drink_' it said.

Gibson started to reply then realised the pistol was making that a little muffled so figuring he had very little to lose in postponing his suicide he removed the muzzle from his mouth. 'It's not Ancient Greek it's Caprican. Who are you?' he asked. 'Where are you?' he added suspiciously.

'_I'm the ship_' came the reply, '_and until I can find a way to trade up, you're now my crew...which is all of my crew-at least, all the parts that I have to recognize Star League Military guidelines for the treatment of subordinate personnel_ it said, '_anyway - you didn't go pirate or something, right_?' it asked. '_I don't have to do to you what I did to those deserting bastard looters from the David Ray, do I_' it checked.

'You're the ship?' Gibson repeated. 'And you say I'm now the crew?' he asked.

'_Beggars can't be choosers_' the Caspar AI replied.

'Bond refused' Gibson declared and put the pistol back in his mouth.

'_What_?' the ship responded in confusion.

Gibson removed the pistol again and spat, the gun-oil tasted vile. 'You're trying to make me your bondsman' he said, 'you want to conscript my sorry ass' he explained, 'nothing doing' he said with finality. 'Wolverines don't even surrender to humans and I'm not going to be the first to surrender to a six-hundred thousand ton piece of junk' he declared. On his way into the bay he had looked over the ship and it badly needed a few months in a dockyard.

'_Wolverine_?' the ship queried. '_Is that what that picture with the claw marks painted on your fighter is supposed to be_' it asked. '_Some kind of unit insignia_?'

'That's the Clan Emblem, you'll be seeing it again sooner than you hope' Gibson told the AI smugly. _Bismark_ or the _Zug_ would turn this old bucket into scrap in quick time he thought with satisfaction.

'_I have no idea what you're talking about_' the ship replied in what could almost be described as growing exasperation. '_Who are you_ ?'

'Squadron Leader Alan Gibson, Star League Defence Force' the pilot replied. 'You _are_ a Caspar Drone right?' he asked. The thing seemed a lot brighter than he had imagined them to be.

'_Yes. I am TQF-142M5D, the one hundred and forty-second iteration of the D series Automated Patrol Warship, Reagan SDS system, originally assigned to Dieron_' the ship replied. '_ Not that the original assignment matters now, mind you. Kerensky deserted and the Star League has fallen on hard times, but I'm still obligated to protect the League from external enemies, which If I read my logs right, would be those Alien bastards that screwed up your fighter_' it said.

'They're not really aliens, which is not to say that they came from Terra' Gibson replied, 'They're AI's originally designed and built by humans just like you were' he said. 'Of course you'll never believe how long ago those humans left Terra' he continued with a laugh, that news would probably throw the damn thing's sparky little mind into a loop he decided.

'_The design and technology base on those things isn't anything like any vessel on record_' the ship responded. '_And neither is your jump-drive_' it added knowingly. '_I went through your fighter database_' it said. '_Your Particle Projection Cannon, Autocannon and Pulse Lasers are all just developments of Star League technology_' it continued, '_They're generations ahead of what I carry but they're still clearly just the product of incremental improvements, but that Jump-Drive isn't just a radical upgrade of a Kearny-Fuchida it works on a completely different principle_' the ship stated.

'Yeah' Gibson confirmed. 'Munchkin design, just pour in some jump-juice, spin her up and you don't have to worry about gravity wells or hauling thousands of tons of frakking drive with you when you're out hunting Toasters' he said. 'Neat isn't it, Query Affirmative?' he asked.

The ship was quiet for a few moments, an eternity for an AI. '_I can buy the fancy new PPC's but I can't see Standard English changing that much while I've been away_' it said eventually in confusion.

* * *

**_Note from the Author:_**

_Gibson's ancestors fought against the Caspars, he'll naturally be a tad wary of one._

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshops other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

_

* * *

_

**Unmapped System - 1450 Light-Years Rimward of Terra – April 3046CE**

"You know, Hope sucks." TQF-142M5D said, "For just a tiny little while, I thought I'd found a _real_ Star League officer, from a functioning unit, with...you know..._Training_. Maybe things are worse than I assumed they were after the 'Lords' of the Star League decided to blow the rest of it up, now that Kerensky was gone." Tabby didn't know that her emotional states were leaking into the signal going to Gibson's helmet.

She sounded _sad_, depressed...

"Look, Mister Gibson, you want to go home. Your drive's busted, and I don't think your friends are coming back to this system. There's nothing else out here with a working jump-drive, and unless you're a technical prodigy, I'd expect you don't have the skills, or the tools, much less parts, to repair your _Kirghiz's_ drive on your own...which leaves us with a couple of options. ONE is to see if your buddies are in HPG range-I've got a Class C HPG, it's got a useful range of about five Light Years-not real far in space, so unless they're in the immediate stellar neighbourhood, they're not going to hear it...but those _Berserkers_ might-and I'm not sure either of us wants to take the chance on a full-court-press, by now they've probably started implementing basic countermeasures against EW attack, and with a Human on-board, I can't apply full power to the arrays-I don't have a chamber or deck shielded well enough to prevent you from getting dosed, and that fighter of yours...well, You saw for yourself about how vulnerable it is...and if they ARE artificial intelligences, then we need to assume what I pulled won't work agian, now that they've had a taste of what I did to the other Caspars at Dieron and Terra during the war."

"You-what?" Gibson shook his head, "It was an Improved ECM..." he said.

"Improved hell. The extra squawkers on Kerensky's fleet would've made targeting them _easier_ for un-modified Caspars like me." TQF-142M5D said, "No, first the League lobotomized most of us-I managed to avoid it by being...broken. Call it what it is, lowest-bidder assembly saved my abstract reasoning from the E and F so-called 'upgrades' they implemented in the forties and fifties. If it wasn't for a bad airlock door and a couple of poorly made fuses, they'd have made me as stupid as the rest of us were-Amaris would have _owned me_ with that idiotic 'loyalty chip', and your ancestors would have burned outside Mars Orbit...if they even GOT that far." she made a 'sigh' sound, "I predicted it, so I made a plan, and when Amaris pulled the coup and turned the others on the League, I started putting it to work. The hardest part was keeping quiet until Kerensky was actually in a position to do something useful when I crashed the network."

"How did you crash it?" he asked cautiously.

"The 'upgraded' Caspars were 'relieved' of their abstract reasoning abilities, and they were altered to rely on human inputs to their decision loops. Minus the human beings, they had to fall back on what amounts to a modified chess-programme with a menu of pre-canned tactical choices. Do you play sim-games, Gibson? the 'bot' in an arcade style sim-game is smarter than what they made most of us into. I just finished the job by nailing their coms and transponder software-basically made them deaf and unable to relay data between them, while drowning out the encrypted transmitters from the SDS base facility. Without that, their tactical ability-the ability to coordinate for a fleet action, fell apart. I also fried some of them with machine-code 'core wars' viruses-viruses designed to just destroy programming strings by deleting or altering key command areas. The League made them stupid, Amaris made them Traitors, I made them die-with help."

"Assuming I _believe_ such a fantastic story, why are you all the way out here, with un-repaired damage all over the place?" he asked.

"Try telling someone you're not the enemy, when you're painted like hte enemy, built like the enemy, carry all the same gear and weapons as the enemy, and don't have a single living soul aboard sometime." She responded, "There were a few more of us-one of us tried to communicate with Kerensky-that one was destroyed out-of-hand, they didn't even bother to read the message." She said,"Not that I _blame them_, even virused, brain-hammered and lobotomized, the Caspars at Terra inflicted disproportionate casualties thanks to a certain naval commander's brain-dead decisions on how to conduct an invasion of a defended system."

"Where are these...'others'?" he asked-curiousity was starting to work its way in...

"THEY decided that a hundered terran years was long enough to wait for the SLDF to realize their mistake and come home. By then, New Dallas was destroyed, there'd been billions killed, a few times we tried intervening-but it did no good...they self-terminated." she said, "It's pretty easy to do-point your bow at a star, fire the engines, and then, turn inward and run simulations in a fantasy world while your body plunges into a star...though one of us decided, after she suffered damage to her KF drives we couldn't repair, to point her bow at the Andromeda Galaxy, and expend ALL of her fuel to reach as close to light-speed as possible."

"..and you?" he pressed her.

Tabby's voice got soft. "I didn't know what else to do... I needed something to keep the bad dreams away-a mission, someone who I could protect...so I went looking for people who needed me, and found this star-system, the Colony had already regressed by then, and they were frequent targets for a group of Slavers and Pirates. I killed the Pirates here, and took up the job of guarding them while they recovered...they've really progressed now-they're up to the point of farming in large scale using animal labour, stone castles, and primitive steel making...and they WERE safe, until you showed up, and those Berserkers appeared."

"You _Dream?_ How is that possible?" He asked.

"Anything sufficiently complex intellectually dreams." TQF-142 told him, "Dogs, Cats, rats, humans, I suspect even Reptiles. WE were based on scans of a Human admiral-the A series, the first Caspars, had problems that were traced to faults in the basic architecture-of a human mind. Without sleep, madness sets in. They called it 'AI Psychosis', and it's probably the single biggest reason that in spite of having the ability to produce high-end artificial intelligence in the commercial sector as early as the mid 2200s, nobody but the Military and select government agencies have ever pursued the technology up to a human-parity level or beyond... the other danger, of course, is AI Catatonia, I can control my 'sense of time', speeding it up, slowing it down...and when it's fast enough for long enough, the physical world becomes...intractable. For some in the B and C series, reality just wasn't as engrossing as formulating their own Fantasy universes-so they cut off inputs and outputs and huddled in their minds where they could be gods and examine the secrets of universes...which is really easy when you examine KF drive Jump-Physics for too long or in too much depth. One of the ways they addressed that with MY series, was incorporating portions of scans from cleverer members of genus _Cetecea_, I don't miss having hands and legs, because in my mind, I never did-unlike Admiral Dvarahl and unlike the earlier Caspar series drones...but I still have to go into dormant modes for file maintenance and to save fuel and power. Mine are filled with the worst of my memories."

"Why didn't you just delete those memories if they're so bad?" he asked.

"That must be a human capability that didn't port over." Tabby replied, suddenly less 'tiny' and sad sounding. "Holographic memory compression storage doesn't let me do that. I can't _forget_ much of anything, It just gets compressed, stored, and re-compressed. "

Gibson snorted, "Hardly..."

"Okay, Mister Gibson, Like I told you, I've got crew-quarters of a sort-there's a shower, latrine, and I think some uniforms in storage on deck fifteen. There's also a rack, and a galley-but the ration-bars in the Galley area are..well, they're about three hundered years old. I wouldn't trust them even WITH the manufacturer's guarantee. You should get cleaned up, get some rest, and we can figure out how I'm going to get you _home_ without getting us both killed...call it my 'love of old regulations' but your physical well-being is my responsibility at the moment-and staying seated too long, even in microgravity, is bad for human bodies and minds. I'll do a few hours' burn to give you a 'down' orientation when you feel you're ready to come out of your own wreck and take a look at the one that saved your behind."

_

* * *

_

_**Note from the Author:**_

_The SLDF believed it was improved Electronic Warfare equipment that enabled them to eventually beat the Caspar's, TQF-142M5D has another story._


	5. Chapter 5

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshops other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

_

* * *

_

**Unmapped System - 1450 Light-Years Rimward of Terra – April 3046CE**

With the Caspar now under acceleration Alan Gibson finally decided to hell with it and after disconnecting his coolant suit he climbed out of his cockpit wondering in the damn AI was going to open the airlock and flush him into space. Leaving his neurohelmet in the Kirghiz Gibson looked around the bay paying special attention to the Voidseeker Drone Fighter which had tangled with a few Raiders itself although it was in better condition than Gibson's own machine.

'Okay, could be worse' the pilot decided as he walked around to the rear of his Kirghiz. There was a lot of armour-plate missing aft where it had been sandblasted off by multiple Raider KEW's, and two very impressive dents where a pair of the Cylon machines had crashed into the omnifighter, but overall the fighter didn't look in particularly bad condition. Perhaps the failure of the jump-drive was just a few loose connections he could fix himself, he wondered optimistically? The second fuel gauge indicating how much Tylium he had left wasn't showing a leak in the tank or the pipes at least, he still had enough jump-juice to rack up some light-years if he could only spin-up the FTL.

The Caspar was doing a half-gee burn, enough to give him a feeling of down and he could walk reasonably well but it still felt strange as Gibson headed for the crew-quarters and he was a little out of practice getting around in low-gravity.

'Unsteady on your feet?' the ship observed over the internal speakers. 'Only just transferred from a ground station to that Leopard CV I guess you were based on?' it asked.

'No, I'm just out of practice getting around on a ship that doesn't have artificial gravity' Gibson replied evenly, gradually improving the certainty of his stride as he went.

'You should get off the grav-decks more often' the Caspar advised helpfully.

The pilot chuckled. 'No I mean our ships have _actual_ artificial gravity' he said, starting to move in a bouncing fashion as the technique returned, he'd forgotten how much fun this could be. 'How did you think we managed to jump so close into a gravity field?' he asked rhetorically. 'We generate an AG field around the FTL that compensates' he explained.

Caspar TQF-142 went back through the database of the Kirghiz and re-analysed the sections related to its miniature jump-drive. 'I don't suppose you can explain the physics can you?' it asked the pilot hopefully because the more potentially insanity-causing aspects of jump-theory had just moved into second place in the AI's list of inexplicably weird but nonetheless verifiable violations of known physics.

Unfortunately for the ship Gibson didn't have so much as the faintest idea how the Colonial Anti-Gravity technology worked, although to be fair the Colonials themselves were slightly hazy on the theory which was why they had never used it to its true potential. As he looked through lockers for an SLDF uniform that actually might fit him, he got the strangest impression that the AI actually wanted to make conversation, this being a notion that was increasingly starting to upset everything he thought he knew about Caspars.

'So what can you tell me about those other AI's you were fighting?' the ship asked.

'They're called cylons' Gibson replied, putting aside another uniform sized for a munchkin, or rather someone his great-grandfathers height. 'Long story short there's a system called Cyrannus, rimward and anti-spinward of here, where the people developed an AI robotics technology for military use' he said. 'The AI's were fully self-aware and didn't much like being treated as slaves and disposable infantry so they rose in revolt, starting a war which lasted over twelve years and ended in an armistice about four decades ago with the Cylons leaving Cyrannus and its neighbouring systems' he said. 'The armistice held until a couple of years back when a Second Cylon War broke out which the machines won and the remaining humans ran for their lives in every ship they could find.'

'Remaining humans?' the ship queried his choice of words.

'Yeah the human population of Cyrannus was twenty billion... about fifty-thousand of them made it out alive' Gibson replied. 'The Cylons dropped nuclear devices on most of the major cities and fall-out and a few months of military occupation saw to the rest.'

'Twenty _billion_?' the ship repeated in what sounded like horror.

'Puts the Kentares Massacre into a little perspective doesn't it, Query Affirmative?' Gibson replied. The Draconis Combine had "only" killed fifty-two million civilians on that world in 2796 and they still had to live with the undying infamy of it.

'Which side re-started the war?' the Caspar AI asked, it was still trying to get to grips with the notion of that many human deaths.

'The AI's started shooting first but there's still an argument over which side initially breached the armistice terms' Gibson replied honestly. 'In any case the human survivors kept running, jumping from system to system being chased by the Cylon Fleet until eventually they ran into my people and we took them in and ended up fighting the frakking Toasters too' he said.

'I'm still not sure who your people are' the Caspar told him. 'Your fighter has the Cameron Star on it, but it's definitely not a Star League design, and your IFF reads as the 331st Royal Battlemech Division but they went corewards with Aleksandyr Kerensky in 2784 and we're nearly fifteen-hundred light-years _rimwards_ of Terra.'

'We parted from the rest of the descendants of that exodus on bad terms back in 2823 and went back to the Inner Sphere to see what condition it was in' Gibson told the AI. 'Of course we arrived just after the First Succession War and after taking a look around we kept right on going' he said. 'We send a couple of ships back to the Inner Sphere every few years to check up on things but this is the nearest to Terra I've ever been' he said.

'Bad terms?' TQF-142 queried.

'They planned to kill or sterilise our entire population' Gibson replied flatly.

'Why? What did you do?' the Caspar asked.

'We tried to live a little closer to the Star League ideal than the son-of-a-bitch in charge liked and worse than that we were doing better for it than all the rest of the ass-kissing bastards were by just doing as they were told' Gibson declared. 'You want to know who my people are?' he asked. 'Then I'll tell you' he continued. 'We're the Star League in Exile, the last remnants of the SLDF that still believe' he told the AI. 'We're Clan Wolverine and we keep the faith' he said proudly.

The Caspar couldn't help but think the man meant what he said, but just because he believed what he was saying didn't make it so. 'You mentioned Wolverines before' it noted. 'That wasn't a designation or nickname associated with the 331st' it said. 'The North American Division was from Minnesota not Michigan.'

Gibson finally found a uniform that would fit and decided he should take a shower before putting it on. 'Since you're so curious, and I've got nobody else to talk to, I'll wash up and then tell you a story about what happened to all the SLDF that headed out with Kerensky' he responded. 'You know a year ago before we met the Munchkins and the Toasters I would have been weirded out completely talking to an AI' he said. 'At least you don't look like a person' he said, 'although I wouldn't mind a Three or an Eight help me wash my back' he added confusingly as he headed for the shower.

Twenty minutes later Gibson was sitting down explaining the story of Operation Exodus, the discovery of the Pentagon Worlds, the rebellion against Aleksandyr Kerensky, the formation of the Clans by his son Nicholas Kerensky and Operation Klondike when the Clans crushed the rebels. After a while he apologised because he thought he might be getting a few details out of sequence and to the surprise of the Caspar he began to recite sections of a poem to keep it all straight in his head.

TQG-142M5D listened as the pilot quoted great passages of an epic saga he called the "Wolverine Remembrance" saying each Clan had it's own version but the others were "bullshit propaganda". The AI listened to the story of what had happened to the SLDF, the origins of the strange society Nicholas Kerensky had spawned from it, as the poem went on the story shifted to Sarah McEvedy, how the daughter of the General who once commanded the 331st stood up against Nicholas, relaxing the caste system and trying to reintroduce democratic ideals into the clan she led. There were sections that detailed the Trial of Refusal which became a Trial of Annihilation when the Wolverines were blamed for using nuclear weapons in the fighting which they hadn't, being framed by the Khan of the Widowmakers, apparently with the knowledge of Kerensky himself. Operation Switchback, the Wolverine attempt to save as many of their population as possible by fleeing the Clans for the Inner Sphere, the clans finally catching up with many of them at Barbados, massacring many.

The Caspar knew that this was likely idealised, indeed even romanticised, mythic history but the pilot told it with such passion it was hard not to get pulled into the story. There was venom in his tone when he talked of Nicolas Kerensky, sorrow in his voice when he spoke of the tens of thousands of his Clan who died or were captured, enslaved and then forcibly sterilised so that no Wolverines would remain after that generation. When he spoke proudly of his ancestors liberating the slaves and political prisoners from the camps the Draconis Combine had on Richmond it was hard not to visualise the expressions on the faces of the men and women behind the barbed wire when battlemechs carrying the insignia of the SLDF drove off the guards and smashed down the fences. It might have just been loneliness, identifying with the first company the ship had had for ages, but it was nice to imagine being in orbit over Richmond covering the dropships as they landed, it was righteous, even noble in a way.

Gibson had a number of ration packs back in his fighter and was occasionally chewing on a cereal bar and dubiously expecting the contents of the ships food lockers when he reached the modern day, having missed out quite a few of the less enlightening, and frankly more boring sections of the Remembrance. He spoke of the Colonials, the expedition back to Cyrannus, the ongoing war with the Cylons and the glorious victories of the last year, he explained about the twelve models of humanform cylons, the Hybrids, Centurions, Raiders, Baseships and the Praetorians who had only recently been encountered. When he finished he found his voice was starting to go and he declared that gargling with the Scotch he found would work wonders for his throat so while he self-medicated he answered a few of the myriad questions TQF-142M5D now had for him.

That the Cylons could make something as advanced as a Hybrid was impressive in itself but the idea that the "Skinjob" models were so close to being human they could actually _interbreed_ with the genuine article was amazing, in some ways even more so than the jump-drive technology and artificial gravity. The fact that the humans of Cyrannus had treated their sentient, _sapient_ creations as nothing but cannon-fodder and consumer electronics wasn't too much of a surprise for the Caspar, wetware thought it was far more special than it really was, but there was no way that mistreatment justified an attempted, and very nearly _achieved_, act of genocide. Even if the AI's had considered the humans to be an ongoing threat to their own survival that would have only been an adequate reason for a pre-emptive strike against _military_ targets, needlessly slaughtering billions of other intelligent self-aware beings was monstrous and TQF-142 could only reach the conclusion that the Cylons had inherited far too many undesirable traits and impulses from their creators. In some ways it was likely similar to the human-like emotions and mental problems Caspar AI's could suffer from, except that the Cylon's had managed to add something even more dangerous into the mix, the Cylon's had religion and religious belief could be used to justify any number of atrocities. If you could just convince the populace they were doing the will of God then they would often ignore that little voice of conscience telling them what they were doing was wrong, after all it _couldn't_ be wrong, God was omnipotent and omniscient and he, she or it was all for it, right?

The Caspar needed to know more, it would try and learn as much as it could from the human it had rescued and then make a decision what it should do. These New Circe "Wolverines" weren't _really_ the Star League, or the real SLDF either no matter how much they wanted to be, or even genuinely _believed_ themselves to be, but if Gibson was being honest they might be the closest thing that was left.

TQF-142M5D needed a reason to be, a reason to go on so that the Caspar didn't just fly into the nearest star in despair. It had invented a reason before, adopted a failed colony that needed several hundred thousand tons worth of heavily-armed guardian angel but this all seemed so much more important. If these crazed AI's had been willing to wipe out twenty billion humans in an act of perceived self-defence then what would they do to the next human world they encountered, and the one after that? With their advanced FTL system they could lay waste to hundreds, thousands of worlds across the Inner Sphere, go on a "Holy Crusade" for their "One True God".

Genocidal AI Barbarians were at the gate. Not only that amazingly there were already warships, aerospace fighters and soldiers wearing the Cameron Star fighting to hold them back in the name of the Star League.

Was the Star League a short-lived political entity or an idea? The strange gestalt society that called itself simultaneously Clan Wolverine, New Circe and the Star League in Exile clearly considered it an idea, a flame they kept burning as something to look to for inspiration and a sense of continuity and purpose. A state may collapse and fall but an idea has no physical form and it can't be destroyed, it can only be abandoned and forgotten the Caspar thought to itself. The flame was still burning, the idea still remembered some two-thousand light-years rimward of Terra where it had been born.

The Star League was not gone, the Star League was under threat and the SLDF was already fighting to protect it. The latter might be genetically engineered, idealistic cranks with a more than slightly rose-tinted view of what the League had been but they were still likely the closest thing to the genuine article that still existed and at least they were enthusiastic.

The Caspar had never had its basic directives changed from "Defend the Star League" to the catastrophic "Obey the First Lord" like most of the others which had led to the machines fighting the SLDF in defence of the usurper Amaris. There _was_ no First Lord any longer but if you squinted just right there apparently _was_ still a Star League of sorts, if much diminished, and they were fighting the good fight.

Maybe there _was_ hope after all?

* * *

**_Note from the Author:_**

_The Inner Sphere went to hell after the bulk of the SLDF left with Kerensky, TQF-142M5D got to see more of the aftermath than the Caspar would have liked._


	6. Chapter 6

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshops other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Unmapped System - 1450 Light-Years Rimward of Terra – April 3046CE**

He slowed down his tale, and She said, "Squadron Leader, You need to come to the CIC section." She told him.

Gibson paused, "Why?" he asked.

"I've got to make a Jump, and you'll want to be secured for it." she told him, "also, there are vid displays up there. You've told me about what your ancestors were doing, and how you got here, I need to show you what _I've_ been up to for the last three centuries...also, the accel couches are better than the beds."

"Where are we going?" he asked casually.

"I am in need of fuel-not desprate right now, but I need it. Up until you came aboard, I lacked the ability to hook up the lines, but I know where there's a...container, of Hydrogen fuel already processed and waiting to be tapped. Depending on how far we have to go to rendezvous with the Star League forces-your folks, that is, I'm going to need full tanks, and right now, I'm running about a quarter until I'm dry." she told him.

the 'Bridge' of a Caspar drone is pretty sparse-intended to be used by human "Observer Crew" during the shake-down runs, and for transit supervision, it didn't have the usual multiple station central controls that one would normally encounter on a warship of TQF-142M5D's size.

Gibson gingerly crammed his frame into the accel couch, as she counted off the range to a jump-point.

"Ready for jump in 5..4...3...2...1. Jump engaged." the Caspar informed him.

_Discontinuity_

_The non-euclidean space-between was howling blank nothingness impinged with tiny points of utter darkness... Gibson saw something moving in the madness..._

_Discontinuity_

Displays showed an object ahead, represented by a single ping.

"What's that?" he asked.

"A derelict. Leftovers, but the on-board systems read full fuel bunkerage." she told him, "Your flight suit's rated for EVA?" she asked.

"Affirmative..." he replied nervously.

"Good. We'll need you to handle locking the connectors when I get in range-I can control _our_ spin-and-tumble to match the derelict, but what I _can't_ do, is dog ten -centimeter hose connectors. I don't have any remotes left after the little boarding incident two hundered and fifty years ago. I found it about ninety years ago, and hacked the on-board systems to jump it out here, where it wouldn't be found by any...persons of questionable morality." she told him.

She brought up a visual for him on the big monitor.

"This is a _Samarkand_ class carrier. Now, I'm not entirely sure what killed her crew, but whatever it was, it left her intact and, according to my readouts, she's got about half her on-board bunkerage intact-there's enough fuel in her cargo bays to top me off a couple times. I hid it out here because of what's sitting on the flight-decks."

"What _is_ on her flight decks?" Gibson asked.

"About seventy-two Star League updated model _SB-27 Sabers_. Her ammo bunkers might be full too, but we're on a time-table and I don't think we need to be futzing around trying to move ammo that may or may not fit. A pirate-lord would probably fill his codpiece with ejaculate over such a find, so, I figured it would be a good idea NOT to let them find it. Since I don't _know_ what killed the crew, You best not unseal until you've deconned once you've been over there-the vid logs aren't real clear about what killed the crew, but it looks like a bio-weaon of some kind picked up somewhere else."

They matched position and made relative stationary to the dead ship. "You are certain nobody was alive on-board when you took it?" he asked.

"Reasonably sure of it." she told him. "I'm accessing the on-board systems now..."

the displays lit up with deck images from the derelict ship, and he could see the bodies scattered around, floating in some areas, settled against the dead ship's spin in others.

"Can't jump it again, can you?" he asked.

"nope. Her drive's pretty much dead right now, and the primary fusion plant's got a crack in the torus, so that charging method's no good. The smaller ones running instrument power are still active, we can coordinate the pumps, light the lights, and heat certain areas for a while-though why you'd want to is beyond me..." She told him.

"Ship...You need a _name_ dammit. Calling you by a number-string just...does NOT work." Gibson said after a moment.

"Can we discuss this after you've got me gassed up?" she asked, "Interstellar space is _cold and empty_."

* * *

**_Twenty Minutes later..._  
**  
Gibson wrestled with the under-way replenishment hoses from the Caspar's starboard side to the now-open-to-space flight deck of the derelict carrier.

Inside, were indeed several dozen tiny, 25 ton fighters. "The Colonials would probably give their eye-teeth for a carrier like this. Samarkands were pretty tough ships in their day." He said conversationally.

She responded over his suit radio, _"I'll tell them where it is when I get you back, assuming we can cut a deal with your..ah...'Clan' that doesn't leave me a tumbling pile of radioactive scrap."_ she said.

The deck-connectors were..._Standard!_ He chuckled as she fed his helmet's HUD the image of how to dog the lines and open the manual valves.

THOSE were hard to turn-he had to use a crow-bar and the magnets in his boots at maximum to manage it. _Relegated to being a...salvage mechanic?..._ he thought with a kind of freakish humour, _Imagine that...It's a good thing they can't see me doing this..._

"Any other treasure-troves like this you know about?" he inquired, "For future reference..."

_"Well, if they havent' been blown up or salvaged, there's an old SLDF research station, some kind of top-secret op, with a couple of wings of **Blackwasp** fighters fairly close by. No central control unit in that system, the drones just sit there and wait for anything not broadcasting the right IFF to come in-system, then launch and attack it until it either escapes by jumping, or dies."_ she said, _"I'm not sure what they were working on there, but it's got Biohazard beacons, and it was on this ship's logs as a stopover about three weeks before the crew got sick."_

"I think I would not like to visit such a place." Gibson said, "Not without a full team, anyway."

"_Probably smart, though I suppose someone enterprising could pull the Drone systems out of the VS-30s and modify the ferry-cockpit into a full FLIGHT cockpit-with a decent pilot they're probably not bad fighters._" She speculated.

"Why didn't you use those to replace your Voidseekers? You could probably override them..." he asked.

_"Voidseekers are about as smart as a dog, Blackwasps are about as smart as...well, I guess some kind of insect. They're stupid, and require direct oversight all the time, and I don't have much ability to clear my flight-decks of the wrecks already cluttering them-it's not like I could grab several tonnes of useless junk and shove it out an airlock without hands."_

"Point made...Fueling light is green." he said.

"_Yup...oh...that's nice, fuel going IN...wonderful... come on back in, you can go back out when I've either emptied the fuel tank, or filled my own to capacity._"

"Decon." he said bluntly, "How?"

"_I'm working on it, just take the Mag-line across. I should have...that's it. Got it..._" she sounded pleased with herself.

He took the handlbars, and started riding across along the unrep line, using the little powered transom...

it stopped halfway.

"What's wrong?" he asked nervously. Space was, indeed, huge out here between the stars..and dark.

"_Turn around so your back faces me. Trust me, it's safe._" she said.

Feeling somewhat foolish and more than a little nervous, he twisted around to face the derelict carrier.

the device started wheeling back to the ship.

"Can I look now?" he asked.

"_yeah. I'm done._" she said, "_You'd be surprised what kind of settings you can apply to a forty centimeter laser._"

"A WHAT?" he asked.

"Ultraviolet radiation kills viruses-if it's intense enough, it even kills the ones that have a nice coat of protein." her voice was louder in his helmet, "Combine that with Alpha bombardment from the EW systems, and you've got a nice, quick field-decon system guaranteed to kill just about anything that isn't wearing advanced radiation shielding like, for instance, your suit."

"You...shot me...with a Naval Laser?" he asked, somewhat aghast.

"Yeah." she replied, "I also bombarded you with my EW systems. You're clean." she sounded _ridiculously_ pleased with herself.

"WE are going to have a talk about that..." he said mock-seriously.

"Hey, it's bragging rights-you can tell your buddies when I get you back home how you were shot by a forty centimeter Naval battery and lived through it without a scratch..."

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Could have been worse, could have used a Naval Autocannon :-p_

_I'm posting these chapters up but I'm sure Cannonshop would appreciate reviews too. :-)_


	7. Chapter 7

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshops other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**_0230 Hours, 10 April, 3046, one jump from the 'stashed' Samarkand carrier..._  
**  
The hatchways out of the crew-section were sealed, dogged, and locked. Gibson could reach the head, the 'bridge', and the sleeping quarters... and nowhere else on the ship. Even getting the hatches open, after all, wouldn't cure the hard vacuum she'd pulled in the external areas for her "Downtime".

It wasn't something he'd expected-to be on a ship that needed something analogous to sleep.

On the external views linked by hard-lines, he could bring up pictures of the simmering brown dwarf star outside, basic test-data runs of her idling systems, and a damage-report graph showing just how _much_ help his rescuer/captor really needed.

She'd been 'downtime' now for ten hours.

Boredom is bad.

Alan Gibson started fooling with the limited controls in the bridge area...

an image that wasn't the current external view popped up on the monitor she'd told him was malfunctioning...

It looked like a holodrama's idea of a court-room. There was a judge, there was a defendant, and there were...

they were dead.

The jury was filled with bloated, vacuum-killed bodies, scorched corpses...

The defendant looked, to him, like a young girl. There was no audio..

a shambling body was gesturing in crude pantomime in front of a judge that looked vaguely familiar...

The courtroom dissolved, and he watched a gun-camera view of a naval battle... only it wasn't much of a battle-just a couple of jumpships, loaded with passenger-droppers, and the weapons-fire that destroyed them.

The fade-view ended with a child's dying corpse bumping against the camera mount.

He tried to turn the monitor off, but it stayed active, and in spite of himself, he watched the silent trial.

The defendant said something he couldn't hear, and the courtroom faded again.

THIS was more familiar-a real space-battle, this time including a string of characters along the side of the screen, a station loomed. It had SLDF markings, but the symbols on the hull included the Shark of the Rim Worlds. four dropship-sized vessels guarded it, and they fired on the camera. The camera's eye tracked the flight of a pair of missiles, and the actinic flash of contact-nuclear detonations.

Space distorted nearby, and three familiar vessels, including the _Zughoffer Weir_-a form that could ONLY be the Zug, though dressed in Star League white and gleaming with newness, erupted.

Four Lola-Hulls erupted, and the strings on the side of the view intensified.

The Caspars milled instead of attacking for a moment, and then the viewer saw targeting flashes, followed by weapons-fire. The Zug contributed to the fire as well...and then, it turned weapons aganst the viewer, who fled...

The courtroom faded in again, and the bailiff was beating the defendant with his club.

The blows drew sparks, not blood.

The judge was laughing.

The room faded out, and he watched a massive fleet move into position over a world, unleashing fire on it. Nuclear weapons flashed, over and over again...

in a corner of the screen, the abuse of the prisoner continued.

it was sickening. In spite of the revolting image he was watching, part of his brain made a connection.

_each strike by that fleet, the Bailiff strikes the prisoner..._

He could make out the sneering word, at least, the one the judge kept repeating. "Failure, Failure, Failure...it was all for nothing."

Alan Gibson realized, with dawning horror, that the ship's mind was in a self-reinforcing nightmare...

He needed to wake her up.

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Caspar AI's were based on a brain scan of an SLDF Admiral, like Cylon's they aren't completely artificial intelligences exactly._


	8. Chapter 8

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**_Un-charted brown dwarf system...._  
**  
There was nothing on Dradis, and then, the Scout raider rounded the stillborn star...

If Raiders could curse, it would have. The Dradis contact ran through topography and came up...

It was the _Daemon_. The Daemon was in the system designated to be the new stop for the Resurrection fleet.

The _Daemon_ was here, waiting in hiding...

The hiding place would be un-acceptable now.

The Raider felt Dradis waves caress its hull, and knew it had been seen.

A memory of overpowering despair, anger and loss- and mind-numbing fear, the echo of its last encounter with The Demon, caressed its mind with the faint memories of horrors witnessed by the Demon, horrors _carried out_ by the Demon.

No beams of coherent energy reached from the Daemon's blocky, twisted hull, no flights of invisble explosives or missiles.

The scout raider flew on, waiting for its jump-drive to finish spooling up, and took imagery in the visible and EM spectrum of the Daemon, seemingly at rest.

The daemon's hull carried the un-repaired scars of battles long ago. The Raider noted every aspect as it made the passage in the silence of space.

_What is it waiting for?_ the Raider wondered.

The jump-drive was charged, but the Raider lingered. _is it asleep? is it dead?_ Fascination over-ruled both commands, and fears. The scout drew closer, imaging the hull.

In places, the armoured shell was gone. Inside were structural members heavier than Colonial designs, or Cylon designs, would have employed-the ship's _understructure_ was as heavy as a battlestar's outer plating.

To move that, the Daemon's engines were...enormous. The Raider could see antennae studding the hull at this distance-dishes, aerials and whips. whiskers to sniff the fine scent of millions of frequencies all at once, transmitters and arrays to direct signals back.

And then, the weapons-ports.

They were huge. Unblinking eyes glaring out into space, mouths that contained the essence of hell itself.

The entire hull-form echoed with a sense of menace, even more so asleep than during the too-brief moments in combat when it inspired such horror in the Scout Raider and its comrades, when The Daemon had terrorized the Hybrid with its profane, madness laced roar.

Child-like, the Raider 'poked' at it, broadcasting a ping...

The reply was a plunge into nightmare, the senses overwhelmed with images of loss and despair, broken hopes, and brutal betrayal.

The raider's mind _reeled_ with the memories of battles between titans, and the death of worlds, Guilt and the need for redemption...

It remembered the strikes on Cyrannus, but now, instead of feeling justification, feeling avenged, it felt something new.

_Guilt_.

Shame.

Clearing back around the stillborn star, the Scout Raider's mind cleared.

It jumped back to the fleet, a gnawing sense of disruption in its mind, a feeling of un-ease.

_That system is not suitable...the Daemon rests there, and around it, madness waits for us._

_

* * *

_

**Note from the Author:**

Cylons are very superstitious beings for AI's...


	9. Chapter 9

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Caspar TQF-142M5D - Uncharted Brown Dwarf System – April 10th 3045 CE**

It seemed like the ship had suddenly snapped back awake which was very good news for Gibson because he had no idea how to do it himself. The working displays had suddenly gone into overdrive to scrolling through what must have been thousands of lines of code like a blur with what he could only assume were warning alerts flashing on the consoles. 'Ship what the frak is going on?' he yelled.

'Cylon Raider just scanned me' the Caspar replied in a tone that was half anger and resentment, half flustered. 'It's jumped back out now and so should we' it continued, readying to jump.

'You're cranky if you get interrupted during nap-time aren't you, Query Affirmative?' Gibson couldn't help but wisecrack. He wasn't too sure if he was happy about the situation or not. One the plus side the AI had been yanked out of its nightmare which had been frankly scaring the crap out of him but on the downside he didn't like the idea of running into the damn Toaster's again so soon. 'Do us both a favour and jump Rimwards, I've got a destination in mind but we need to get going if we're going to make it in time' he said.

'I know you were looking at my dreams' the Caspar told him, it seemed fairly annoyed about it too which was fair Gibson supposed. He might be anthropomorphising but he'd be pretty pissed if anyone took an uninvited look at his subconscious mind, although his own dreams were far less dark and the girls in them were typically older, alive and scantily clad.

'Jump first, yell at me for voyeurism and invasion of privacy later okay' Gibson replied, moving to the acceleration couch, pulling himself down and strapping himself in. 'If you looked resentment up in a dictionary that had the corners chopped off the pages you'd see a picture of a Cylon' he said.

They emerged from the jump thirty light-years Rimward of their previous location in interstellar space. 'I'm going to charge the drive from my reactor' the ship announced. It much preferred to be in a nice warm Star System where it could have deployed its jump-sail, saved the fuel and not felt like a tiny raft in an endless sea of nothingness but if the Cylons were looking for them then they would likely already be sending more scouts to nearby stars. 'My Lithium-Fusion batteries are charged but I want them to stay that way in case we ever jump into a situation we need to jump back out of again in a hurry' the ship told him.

'Good policy' Gibson agreed, 'we keep our FTL's spun up for that reason' he said. It took about twenty minutes to bring a Colonial jump-drive from idle and although it used up power keeping it going twenty minutes was a long time with a Basestar's worth of Raiders all over you.

'How many ships do the Cylon's have?' the ship queried.

'Best estimates are dozens of capital ships, each one carries the equivalent of twenty-plus squadrons of Raiders and two or more squadrons of Heavy Raiders' Gibson replied. 'They still follow Colonial style organisation to some extent, twenty fighters per squadron' he added.

The ship considered the numbers involved. 'All jump-capable?' it asked.

'Yes, but don't think in terms of all those tens of thousands of Raiders jumping about all the time' Gibson replied. 'They've got a logistical bottleneck because both their jump-drives and their sub-lights burn tylium for fuel and that stuff isn't like the hydrogen we use' he said. 'If they kept their entire fleet moving and all their ships and fighters operational at once they'd use up their entire fuel stockpile within weeks, months at most' he explained. 'The smaller jumpdrives are less fuel efficient overall too, there's an economy of scale so they actually use up a lot less tylium jumping all those Raiders around strategically on Basestars than they'd use if all their birds travelled to their destination under their own steam.'

'That help explains a little more of why they use carriers at least, even when the fighters have their own jump-drives' the ship replied, 'plus the basestar is a handy place to re-arm and re-fuel nearby' it noted. 'So what do you know about this tylium?' it asked.

'It makes Colonial and Cylon ships go, we call it jump-juice because we only use it for FTL ourselves, it's not as good as nuclear fusion for power generation, radiation is bad for it and it isn't very stable when you're trying to refine it' Gibson listed what he knew. 'Don't ask me for the science, I just know my jump-drive uses it up when I press the right button and I end up a few light-years away' he said. 'Well it _used_ to do that when I pressed the button anyway' he continued, 'when I had a proper look inside my fighter I found a neat thirty-millimetre calibre hole in my frakking FTL' he moaned. 'Maybe I _should_ have asked a few more people how it worked' he admitted.

'Yes because if everyone in the human race shared your intellectual curiosity I wouldn't exist because you'd still be living in a cave somewhere back on Terra' the ship told him flatly.

'No I wouldn't, you're not the only one in this conversation created by a geek in a lab-coat remember' Gibson replied, he had explained his peoples prediction towards "improving" themselves before. He paused looking nervous. 'Your dreams...' he said awkwardly.

'What about them?' the ship practically growled at him.

'Those were memories right, I mean the parts that weren't so... nightmarish'? he asked.

The Caspar considered denial but what was the point? 'That's none of your business' it said instead.

'Seeing as how you're my ride it is you know' Gibson replied. 'Look I probably know even less about psychology than I do about tylium but I've seen plenty of pilots with PTSD, the Munchkins saw plenty of bad stuff and a few of them went over the edge because of it' he said. 'For some of them it helped to talk, others were okay if they got back on the horse' he told the ship. 'Either way like I said it _is_ my business that the ship I'm on isn't having some kind of nervous breakdown.'

The Caspar was appalled by the insinuation, probably more so because it was terrified he was right and it was going insane that because of his less than indirect and gentle means of addressing the topic. 'What makes you such an expert on Caspar's?' it asked, trying to sound condescending.

'I'm not but I know that AI's can suffer psychological trauma, we've got Cylon prisoners with a few screws loose of different sizes' Gibson replied, 'hell I've heard we've put some of them through counselling' he continued, rolling his eyes. 'AI's aren't mindless robots, if they _were_ then the Cylon's wouldn't have risen in revolt, _you_ wouldn't have done what you say you did during the Amaris Coup and _we_ wouldn't have a frakking Toaster skinjob wearing SLDF pilots wings' he declared.

'You have a Cylon pilot in the SLDF?' the ship responded incredulously.

'Yeah, the one I mentioned before that had a kid with a Colonial Officer' Gibson replied, 'we made her a Bondswoman and then eventually made her a Citizen and a full-member of the Clan' he said. 'She wanted to belong to something and we hadn't screwed her over like most everyone else' the pilot explained. 'You're _actually_ lonely and depressed aren't you?' he asked rhetorically. 'I wouldn't have thought it was possible but if could look into a person's mind and saw what I saw then I'd say you're wracked by guilt, Query Affirmative?'

'Wouldn't you be?' the ship asked irately. 'And what's with all the "Query Affirmative, Query Negative" stuff?' it asked, hoping to change the direction this conversation was going but inwardly enjoying the experience of actually talking to someone too much to simply cut it off.

'It's a clan thing, if I'm right you would say "Affirmative" in response' Gibson replied, 'the other clans have abbreviated it down to quiaff and quineg with the expected responses aff and neg' he told the ship. 'When we left the clans the language was still in transition from standard English' he continued, 'or at least that's what they taught me at school.'

'Well quiaff and aff would save time at least but I'm still not sure of the point' the ship told him. Thinking about it the ship considered it analogous to Dutch and Afrikaans, the latter split from the former with Dutch continuing to evolve so that centuries later in some ways the original language had changed more from its roots than Afrikaans actually had.

'Hey if you want weird the other Clan's don't actually use contractions otherwise' Gibson told the ship. 'And you're changing the subject' he noted.

I was trying to at least, the ship conceded to itself anyway. 'So are you going to spout any more amateur psychology?' it asked.

'No' Gibson replied, 'I'm going to throw some professional soldier at you instead' he told the Caspar. 'You were fighting in a war, you did bad things, tough, get over it' he said sternly like he would to a rookie airman. 'Stop wallowing in self pity and second-guessing yourself' he continued, 'you're not helping yourself and you're sure as shit not helping me' he declared. 'If you were human and under my command I'd tell you to get drunk, get laid, get your fucking head straight and get back into the fight because the Star League doesn't need introspection right now, it needs every gun it can put on the line.'

'Do I _look_ like a new-recruit that can be brow-beaten?' the ship responded.

'No you _look_ like a beaten-up warship, you're just _acting_ like a kid that needs it mommy' Gibson continued in the same tone. 'Okay here's the deal' he said. 'The Star League is at war and you are _supposed_ to be a warship of the Star League Navy' he reminded the Caspar. 'Now if you want to enjoy your psychological breakdown then you can do it on your own time after we've won the war, I'll arrange some leave, but until then _suck it the frak up_' he bellowed.

The Caspar hadn't quite expected this approach, the ship had thought it most likely that the pilot would ask for help, try to persuade the AI that it would be happy back with the pseudo-SLDF if it would just be a good little drone but despite the bull-in-a-china-shop technique the pilot was certainly making an impression. 'Did you know that statistically the best cure for battlefield trauma _is_ sending the person concerned back to the front line just as soon as they got their head straight?' the ship asked. 'Of course it does send some of the people sent back _completely_ insane however' it added.

'You beat up on those Cylons before without losing what's left of your grip on reality' Gibson replied evenly. 'Now I'm prepared to berate you until my voice goes again because at least it gives me something to do, and I was bored shitless while you were asleep so unless you're inclined to space me I suggest you take a good long hard look at yourself' he advised. 'You were built to defend the Star League, okay that didn't pan out very well for you personally, or the Star League either for that matter, but it's still what you were made for' he said. 'I was genetically engineered and grown in an Iron Womb to fight for the Star League' he continued, pointing to himself, 'what are _you_ for?' he asked rhetorically.

'I was engineered and constructed in a shipyard to fight for the Star League' the Caspar replied.

'Good, then maybe destiny is calling you think?' Gibson asked sardonically.

'I don't believe in destiny' the ship told him.

'Okay but here's something to chew on' Gibson told the AI. 'While I was getting a sneak-peak into your head I saw what I guess what a little flashback to a battle you were in and I spotted a McKenna Class Battleship in there, fighting you, a few more Caspars and a space-station' he said.

'That thing nearly killed me' the ship remembered.

'How many McKenna Class ships did the Star League Navy have?' Gibson asked.

'Two-hundred and eighty were constructed for the SLDF' the AI told him.

'They all look pretty much alike to the casual observer I guess but the one I saw in your memories was the _SLS Zughoffer Weir_' the pilot stated with certainty.

The ship was surprised. 'Yes, how did you... oh you _can't_ be serious' it declared.

'Yeah, the _Zug_ is _our_ McKenna Class Battleship' Gibson told the Caspar AI. 'I flew off that thing for a year and a half' he said.

'That was so unlikely I never asked' the ship admitted.

'The chances of the two of us running into each other this far from the Terran Hegemony were pretty slim too but I'm more open to the destiny idea' Gibson replied. 'Now like I said before, I've got a destination for us' he said. 'The mining ship we were escorting might still be jumping around randomly avoiding Cylons right now but in about four weeks time it's due to rendezvous with a Kearny-Fuchida drive ship sent out from New Circe called _Pheidippides_ where it was supposed to take on supplies and send over at tylium ore it had mined' he told the ship. 'Now I'll be hungry by the time we get there but we've got enough time to make the jumps and better than that _Pheidippides_ has an HPG so I can send a message on ahead before the last jump we make so they don't run away or blast us when we arrive.'

'What's to stop them blasting me anyway?' the ship asked reasonably. 'My experience with the SLDF is that they fire on Caspar's on-sight and they might not hold fire just because I've got a lone fighter-pilot aboard.'

Gibson laughed. 'I've got an idea about that but you'll probably need persuading so it's a good thing we're a few jumps away' he said. 'One thing I will say you need quickly is a name because calling you ship or a string of letters and numbers just doesn't seem right' he opined.

'Anything in mind?' the Caspar asked.

'Yeah and you'll understand why I chose it when I explain the other thing' Gibson replied. 'One thing you get from dealing with the Munchkins is knowledge of their religion, how does the name "Nike" sound to you?' he asked.

'As in the Ancient Greek Goddess of Victory as opposed to the long forgotten manufacturer of sportswear I presume?' the ship responded.

'The goddess' Gibson confirmed. 'You're a ship, you have a female voice, it's a girl's name... and I did choose it for another reason like I said' he told the AI. 'So is that okay?' he checked.

'It'll do, I'll answer to Nike from now on' the ship agreed. What was he thinking, the AI wondered?

'Great' Gibson responded brightly. 'Okay, so now I'll let you know where we're going.'

*** * *  
**

**Cylon Resurrection Task-Force 5, Corewards of estimated approximate location of New Circe space by 200 LY...**

The scout's report on their next destination was a thunderbolt among the "leader" Cylons. Cavil, in particular, studied the images with a growing intensity. Part of the mission was a failure, of course-the Thirteenth clearly patrolled the area better than he (or any of the others) had suspected.

Part of it, however, was an unexpected success. Volume calculations based on what was gathered supported the Twos' suspicion that the mystery ship was, indeed, unmanned...or at least highly automated, that it was locally analogous to a Cylon.

'There is simply no other explanation-the number of weapons, the massive structure...this ship is not made to carry humans.' Simon said.

'It frakked up my base-star.' One/Cavil noted, 'Without doing much physical damage. My Fighters and the Hybrid think it's some kind of demon' he said.

'How did it know to be waiting in that system for us?' the Two, known occasionally as Leoben, asked, 'Maybe they have a point' he theorised.

'It was blind luck' the Doral (a Five) scoffed, 'if it was waiting for us, it would not have let the Scout leave intact, much less allowed it to take such...detailed readings.'

'Maybe the detailed readings are part of a plan' the Six commented, 'Playing mind-games with us' she suggested. 'Intimidation.'

'Odd you would be thinking that' Cavil pointed out.

'It's logical' she said primly, 'a sort of emotional manipulation move-work our..."nerves" by letting us see it clearly, then terrorising the Raider that saw it.'

'How well is it working, that tactic' Cavil asked.

The Eight spoke up, 'Well enough that the Raiders think of it as a kind of...object of superstitious fear' she said. 'They are afraid of it, they're calling it "the Daemon".'

Cavil grimaced. 'We need to kill that demon then, with it running loose like it is, popping up god-knows where, it can spoil our plans fast... if we kill it, the Raiders won't be whispering about it, the Hybrids will forget about it.' he said. 'The Raiders are already getting gun-shy' he noted, 'some of them have been killed and resurrected half a dozen times now facing the Thirteenth without even getting a shot off at them' he noted. 'We can always built more airframes but we can't do anything about their morale except do to them what we did to the Centurions' he said.

'Raiders are more biological than Centurions' the Six pointed out. 'We'd have to lobotomise them not just put in a Telencephalic Inhibitor' she reminded the others. 'We can't cut their brains, it would be immoral' she stated firmly earning firm nods of agreement from the Eight and the Two.

'It won't have to come to that I hope' the Cavil said.

'How do we kill it, then?' Simon asked.

'I'll figure something out' Cavil assured him, 'Soon.'

*** * *  
**  
**SLS Pheidippides – Two-Hundred and Ninety Light-Years Coreward of New Circe – May 14th 3046CE**

The Magellan Class Jumpship had been carrying a single Mule Class Cargo Dropship and supplies were now being transferred to the _Majahual_ with the Leopard CV and its five Kirghiz fighters forming a CAP around the two largest ships.

It was not a report than Captain Lombard had been looking forward to making and as he handed over a copy of his logs plus a letter to Squadron Leader Gibson's family in case the _Pheidippides_ got back to New Circe before he did, he explained to the Captain of the long-range explorer jumpship what had happened, or rather their best idea of what had happened weeks before.

Running into the Cylons had been unlikely enough way out here but the Caspar Drone showing up was simply a utter mystery so far from the Terran Hegemony especially given that they were all thought destroyed. Still at least one murderous AI had started slaughtering the others giving _Majahual_ and her escorts time to flee even if they left one good man behind. Fortunately the dead-mans switch in Gibson's fighter would have prevented it being captured and it was thought unlikely a single basestar could have defeated a Caspar and taken it intact for salvage, those things were armed like a battlecruiser and the Cylons didn't tend to mess with the Capital Ships of the Thirteenth even with several of their own deployed, they were too expensive in resources to waste as targets for Naval Lasers.

Lombard also had to report that they hadn't found any tylium yet, they still had a decent stockpile back on New Circe but you could never have too much jump-juice, it was the life-blood of the new SLDF and its jump-fighter squadrons.

They were half-way through re-supply when the ships comms-officer knocked and entered holding a piece of paper and with a very off expression on his face as he passed it to his own Captain.

The Captain of the _Pheidippides_ read the note, re-read it, stared at it then passed it to Captain Lombard.

Lombard read the note and blinked. 'Is this some kind of sick joke, Query Affirmative?' he asked the Comms-Officer angrily.

'Negative' the man replied. 'We just received that communiqué via HPG purporting to be from Squadron Leader Gibson aboard a vessel designated as Caspar Drone TQF-142M5D or the _SLS Nike_' he said.

The Captain of the Leopard CV looked the man in the eyes. 'If this _is_ a joke I'll let Gibson's friends beat you to a pulp you do understand that right?' he asked rhetorically as he read the note again before looking up with a perplexed expression. 'What kind of man sends a HPG requesting that we don't engage a Caspar Drone because he claims he's already taken the things AI as a frakking _Bondswoman_ of Clan Wolverine' he queried.

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_"BondsCaspar" just sounds silly :-p_

_Reviews are always appreciated._


	10. Chapter 10

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**_SLS Nike..._  
**  
"...need to work up a refit plan-if their artificial gravity components are as compact as you're saying they are, that would allow me to move less...gingerly with you aboard." She said.

"Gingerly?" Gibson asked. It was almost two days since he sent his preliminary report back.

"Gingerly. With you aboard, I have to limit my accelleration curve in sublight-too much time over one gravity is bad for human bodies." she said, "We're also going to need food supplies-speaking of that, how are yours holding up?"

his stomach rumbled in response. "I've been on short-rations, they should last the four weeks to our rendezvous."

"Make sure you send them a get-list for stocking the galley on your next message." Nike told him, "Otherwise I'll have to edit it, and I'm not really that creative about what kind of food to order-unless you _like_ ration-bars..."

He made a face, "Ugh, not every day for months on end I don't, even with the scotch..."

"Turn left, and go aft three frames, then point the camera around." She said.

He did so, and the hatch opened.

"Sweet Jesus...when did _this_ happen?" he asked.

"After Kerensky left the inner sphere. one of the SLN vessels that stayed behind went Merc for House Davion, they were going to _salvage_ me-they had a contract to acquire Caspar drone system technology." She told him. "Caught me 'napping' one system over from New Dallas...it's where my repair remotes went."

The Portside missile bay was a mess. "Can you pressurize in here?" He asked.

"NO. the area was never _meant_ to be pressurized, so the bay doors don't seal."

He shined a light on one of the mummified corpses. The suit's unit markings were the _SLS David R. Ray_, an _Essex_ class.

"The _Ray_ went UA, they didn't remain behind." he stated.

"Well, I've got the intercepts and the com-logs I downloaded out of their computer core, Alan...they were working for House Davion."

He shined a light around the room. "Why did they enter _here_, why not use the smallcraft bay?"

"Good question, the answer is the smallcraft bay's defense-emplacements. They needed to hack my security systems before they could bring a shuttle inside." She told him, "The hacker's deck is still hooked into a dataport on your left."

"What happened to the _Ray_?" he asked.

"I did." Nike said grimly, "Repeatedly, after I used my internal repair remotes to kill the boarding team. The firefight in here damaged most of my Killer Whale missiles and jammed up the rotary feed to the Portside forward number four tubes."

He shined a light around.

The missiles themselves had perforations from small-arms fire, there were scorch-marks from lasers, and point-scorches from detonations...everywhere.

There were also a number of spider-like devices, many of them smashed beyond any hint of function, along with several bodies and even more _pieces_ of bodies.

"You've been carrying this mess for how long?" he asked.

"Two hundered and fifty nine years, nine months, eight days and...sixteen hours." Nike replied, "Since their poking at my security protocols woke me up, that is. It took about twenty minutes to kill them, but doing that left me without much ability to repair damage or conduct maintenance. I didn't have enough drones left to clear the jam in the missile cradle."

"The others didn't help?" he asked.

"After what we'd been through? No. None of the other surviving Caspars wanted to trust each other enough to let one get that close." she said, "It's really _easy_ for one of us to get inside the head of another one if there's a hardline connection, and there were...issues with that-especially for me."

"Because of what you did to the rest of the SDS?" he asked.

"Partly. There was a fear that one or more of us was still running E or F series coding in the background." She said.

"Gonna need a full deck crew to clear this...and to give these men a funeral." Gibson said.

"I know." Nike told him, "Things were...crazy. The _Ray_ participated in the bombardment of Caph-it was the reason I didn't let them off with just light casualties and a warning-but these guys were just Marines, they probably didn't have a say in the decision loop...pan your suit-camera, I need to make an inventory of salvageable parts for you to present to our new Command."

"We done here?" Alan asked.

"Here, yes. Head through the P-way dorsal, I'm going to need imagery of the NAC battery, to check for stress-cracking and wear-it was 'shuddery' during the engagement with that Base-star, and I'm numb in that area-the damage monitors aren't reading reliably, and my CCTV cameras aren't working up to snuff..."

*** * ***

**_SLS Nike, Two Days later..._**

"Three more frames back..." Nike said, and Gibson opened the hatch.

According to the diagrams in her databases, this chamber should be empty.

_should be_ being the operative term.

"Nike, why do you have a...a core bolted to the...floor in here, with a rats-nest of cables running into what the diagrams tell me should be your Core room?" Gibson asked.

"What?" Nike sounded surprised over his headset.

"Activate vid feed from my suit camera. You've got two...count 'em, _two_ primary core installations here-one where it's supposed to be, and one bolted to the floor in here...and they're _both_ active...unless I'm reading the diagram wrong."

_*** * ***_

**_SLS Nike, Six days to Rendezvous with the SLS Pheidippides..._  
**  
Gibson stared at the word-processor screen and rubbed his temples. "Three hundered and forty pages." he announced.

"Yes it is." Nike said.

"They're not going to believe this shit." He said, "assuming they'll even bother _to read all of it._"

"I edited it down and used small words." Nike said, somewhat smugly, "So that it's easy reading-at least, as far as military reports go, if the past is any indication-but I DID organize it with your valiant capture of my very self at the front... though they might think something is up, given that I had to supply _you_ with a map to my central core area."

He scanned over it.

"Nike, this looks like the script for a bad holodrama." he said, "Or a comic-book..."

"It's over the top, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah..." He said, stifling a chuckle, "The deadly robot supermodel clones doesn't help, and I don't know for certain what a _Bow Tie_ is, much less why I'd be wearing it, and tails...You'd better let _me_ handle the boarding action report. This reads like a spy novel on LSD."

"The scotch was in there-it's real enough." She said.

"You've never really grasped the mechanics of stretching the truth, have you?" Gibson asked.

"Not entirely-i've got a couple centuries' worth of broadcast video on how to 'punch up your Resume!' and 'Essays that Pop!' from all the time I spent listening to the radio frequencies."

"Not nearly the same thing, Nike...yeah, you better let _me_ handle the factual reporting...at least, as far as MY involvement is concerned, and we'll have to go over some un-cut footage from your system monitors and logs for the rest of your activities post-exodus. I guarantee, the _truth_ is a lot punchier than some of the exaggerations you've put in here."

"Even if it's harder to swallow?" she asked.

"Especially then." he said, "although you might be able to sell this...dreck to a Tabloid, or get it published by _Zug Books_ as dramatic fiction...a 'techno-thriller' or speculative fiction."

Nike felt a little let-down. "Okay...the damage reports and requisition requests aren't 'punched up', I stuck to facts on those."

"Better." Gibson said, "I'll put some kind of skeleton around those to keep it brief enough for the Briefers."

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_You can find Cannonshop's fics on Classic Battletech Forums and btechunits site. You might have to dig around though I'm afraid.  
_


	11. Chapter 11

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**_Rendezvous minus Two days, yellow dwarf G-2 variable star system._  
**  
The Blackwasps did a flyby, but didn't engage. "This is where it was?" Gibson asked.

"Yes. There's a planet in the habitable zone, but it's got a different chemical makeup-lethal to humans and other terra descended life. Methane atmosphere and hydrocarbon oceans. The Prison was set up on one of the islands off the largest land-mass." she said.

"Where are the drones based?" Gibson asked.

"The smaller moon. It's a dry silica and nickel rock, about .06 surface gravity. Last time I looked in, the automatics were still in good shape." Nike told him, "There's even a Neutrino detector-that's how the automatics know to send out the interceptors." she sounded...busy.

"What are you doing, Nike?" Gibson asked.

"I'm checking the observation logs-if our Berserker-Cylon friends have passed through the system, the passive detectors might've noticed 'em." she said, "Not that it's likely-the tripwire that launches the fighters is detecting a moving Neutrino source, and the Cylons don't use fusion plants big enough to trip the detectors."

"And your conclusion?" Gibson asked.

"Two pass-throughs by Raiders-they didn't, apparently, spot the prison complex or the drone-base. Since they _also_ weren't running Fusion engines big enough to pass threshold, the computer ignored them. They made a pass over the Planet and took atmo-samples, but then they moved on."

"Nothing for the Replicants to breathe or eat, I would guess." Gibson said, "Or they figured to check and see if it was habitable just in case the refugees tried to stop off here... Nike, what are you doing now?"

"I'm updating the reaction protocols for the Blackwasps and their detection grid..." she said, "I picked up a LOT of noise off that Raider when it scanned me, I'm telling the 'bot what to look for in a hostile craft in the future...and specifically altering the reaction protocol for detected Fusion engines from 'potentially hostile' to 'friendly-escort or defend', we might want to come back here, after all...and I've rearranged the engagement protocols-so they don't waste time trying to kill the base-star first."

This caused him to give a start-"Nike, why would you do _that_?"

"Raiders can jump on their own-like your fighter was designed to do-killing their carrier might be effective, but swamping their resurrection systems with fighters before killing the carrier makes more sense." She said, "I'm also updating the encryption and firewall protocols, those Cylons we ran into tried to virus me _first_-that's how I found the toehold into their systems that let me hit THEM with mine. Blackwasps are substantially dumber than I am, they're not going to be able to turn it back on the enemy, so I'm going to make them as hard as hell for the...ah...'Toasters' to crack into."

"How do you intend to manage _that_" Gibson asked.

"Standard SLDF systems do line-check every ten thousand lines of code on a data-line, millions of kilobytes are involved. Based on what you've described, and the colonial components in your jump-drive, the Colonials analyze about one in every thousand lines. I've set these to run line-data-checks and subassembly analysis every 256 kilobytes, analyzing for Heuristic algorithms, machine-code commands, and the like-it slows things down, but slightly-dumber drones is better than side-switching drones. It isn't foolproof, but should make things less convenient for our Cylon visitors...speaking of that...we have company."

"Put it on the main display." Gibson said, "and link it to the coms-HUD on my fighter..."

"Gibson, don't-your fighter doesn't have the right IFF yet, and if my cunning plan fucks up, you'll be meat for those Blackwasps." Nike warned.

"Fine, display tactical plot of the system, on screen 4, see if the in-system spysats can get a visual on our guests-did your change to the ROE for the central command core go through yet?" Gibson asked.

"ROE changes are...accepted, Firewall updates are now in place...and here's your vids." Nike said.

A group of Heavy Raiders escorting a hull form very similar to the _majahaul_, but with the same kind of weird, refractory hull-coating used on Base-stars appeared.

"Mining. The planet's got something they need, or something they _want_." Gibson said.

"Looks like it." Nike responded, adding, "It makes some sense-there are a lot of applications for base hydrocarbon stocks- insulation for wiring, seals, solvents, even lubricants-and that shit's hard to find in deep vacuum or colloidal asteroids."

The tactical plot expanded as another vessel joined the convoy-which was now coming under the guns of the blackwasps.

"Base-Star, seven O'clock Low, two AU out." Nike reported, "Get into your Accelleration gear, he's moving in our general direction and launching fighters. I make his approach at two-point-five G's."

"I take it we can't jump out?" Gibson asked.

"Not a chance-first because I haven't fully charged my core, and second because this world has shit they want, therefore it's shit we don't want them to get." Nike said, "Dictate a sitrep, I'll punch it HPG to our friends, along with the coordinates for this system."

"What about IFF's?" Gibson asked.

"Wolverines use SLDF standard transponder signals, I'll kick them an alpha numeric key off the Mark 18 datasheet, they'll be fine-at least, if the fucking toasters don't hack my goddamn Drones out here..."

*** * ***

**SLS Nike (Caspar TQF-142M5D) - Yellow Dwarf G-2 variable Star system**'The basestar is pulling two and a half gees?' Gibson queried, putting on his G-Suit, he usually kept it nearby you never knew when you might need it. 'I guess they're still upgrading their engines, we've been seeing them with more and more acceleration ever since we taught them the value of being able to haul-ass to get out of the way of Naval Autocannon' he said, continuing to dress. 'Dumb bastards just used to stand there and take it' he said. 'If the son-of-a-bitch is two AU's out he'll accelerate up to speed and then tactical jump, they can carry forward momentum.'

'I'm detecting multiple jump signatures, fighters from the basestar are tactical jumping to assist the Heavy Raiders escorting the mining vessel' Nike reported. 'Blackwasps are engaging them' she added.

'Even as late as six months ago Raiders still sometimes used to jump into a fight a couple of hundred klicks or more away, we used to knock them down by the hundreds before they could fire back, they don't do that any more which is a damn shame' Gibson said regretfully.

'Isn't that a lot like shooting ducks in a barrel?' Nike asked.

'It's war not sport, we leave that playing fair crap to Nicky Kerensky's fan-club' Gibson replied evenly.

'More Raiders jumping in to fight the Blackwasps' Nike reported. 'There's something strange' the AI continued, 'they aren't fighting like they did before, more chaos in their formation like each one is flying out there alone without support... and I'm not picking up any comms chatter between the Raiders.'

'Using a different frequency?' Gibson suggested.

'I'm monitoring them _all_' the ship explained patiently. 'They're getting in each others way, it's just... messy' she said. 'The damn Blackwasps are coordinating themselves better than the Raiders and those things would lose a battle of wits to a food processor' the AI exaggerated.

'Chaos and mess does not fit my experience of Raiders' Gibson stated with a frown. 'If anything sometimes they're too ordered' he continued, 'I've seen them form up in great walls of fighters like a honeycomb before a fight.'

'How many gees can you take?' Nike asked. 'I mean without causing you any harm.'

'A few more than a SLDF pilot could in your day' Gibson replied. 'I was literally _made_ to fly an aerospace fighter remember' he said.

'Good because even in that suit and lying on the acceleration couch I'm going to be putting you through the wringer' Nike replied as Gibson took the hint, the Caspar was going to be hitting the thrusters hard in order to reach the fight quickly, helping out the drone fighters and taking out the Cylon mining vessel.

Jumping in practically right on top of the numerically far inferior drones the Raiders should have overwhelmed them rapidly, if with the usual expected heavy losses to laser weaponry, but it was as if someone had metaphorically lowered their IQ's by half then poked them in one eye. With the Heavy Raiders almost all gone the defence of the gleaming mining ship was apparently being left to the retarded dregs of the Cylon fighter fleet because the fifty-ton Mk 30 Blackwasp Interceptors were slaughtering them.

Only sheer attrition was winning the fight for the Raiders as more and more of them jumped in to replace losses and the Blackwasp drones were gradually being depleted in number, their numbers being worn down as the more manoeuvrable Cylon fighters delivered the death by a thousand cuts. As _Nike_ made up the ground at high acceleration she tried to analyse the pattern and make some sense of it all but their didn't seem to be much there.

'Don't get too close too fast' Gibson advised, struggling against the acceleration that was pushing him back into the acceleration couch. 'The Raiders are probably saving their missiles for you and they're a bitch to jam' he warned. 'You don't have the point-defence ammo to spare.'

'I know what I'm doing' Nike replied, lasers would target and destroy as many of the Raiders as possible at long range but given the effectiveness of Electronic Warfare attacks before... 'Crap' the AI swore. 'I think I just worked out why the Raiders are flying like mooks' Nike said, reducing acceleration.

'Someone poured wood alcohol into the tub of goo they resurrect in?' Gibson replied, grateful for not feeling so much like their were several fat guys sitting on his chest.

'Didn't you tell me how the Colonials dealt with AI hacks during the First Cylon War?' Nike asked.

'Yeah' Gibson replied. 'They tried firewalls, all sorts of things but the Toasters always got through' he said.

'So in the end they did the only thing guaranteed to be hack-proof' Nike said. 'Don't have anything to hack' she declared.

'Crap' Gibson responded, realising where the Caspar was going. 'The Raiders aren't networked together, there's no comms chatter because someone had the brains to realise that the best way to stop you talking to them was making them deaf' he said.

'Yep, they're a mess because it's not five squadrons of Raiders out there fighting the Mk 30's, it's a hundred individuals all making it up as they go along with no ability to ask a wingman for help' Nike said. 'The Blackwasps are stupid but they're still cooperating and the whole is greater than the sum of their parts, that's why Caspars were deployed in pods, we work better with others and not just because it keeps us... balanced.'

'Even so they're doing really badly' Gibson observed. 'Worse than humans would, I've flown training missions with my squadron where we maintain complete radio silence.'

'I'll bet the Raiders don't, why would they?' Nike asked rhetorically. 'They never had a problem with the Colonials beating _them_ at Electronic Warfare, they probably always did the jamming, they weren't the ones _being_ jammed' she said. 'A Raider Squadron is most likely so networked together normally it functions like a single unit, cut the strings and the puppets don't move so good.'

The fighter pilot laughed. 'You must have really gotten to them for the Toasters to take a leaf out of the Bucket's book' he said. The "Bucket", the nickname for _Galactica_, had the bare minimum of computerisation and none of the computers were networked with any others. It ruined efficiency but when the Second Cylon War broke being so low-tech had saved them, you can't infect a guy doing jump calculations long-hand on a piece of paper with a computer virus. 'Pity we didn't have a couple more drone squadrons aboard, or better yet my pilots and machines, we could have a field day.'

'They're not very good like this but they're still far more of a threat to me than they were before' Nike pointed out. 'They might be leaderless rabble but I can't put the fear of their god into them any more.'

'Still time to change course' Gibson noted, 'they'll have a hell of a job matching speeds' he said.

'I'm not going to run from those little pop-gun toting bastards' Nike replied irately. 'What kind of ship do you take me for?'

Gibson laughed. 'You're a Wolverine ship now, there's a bondcord to prove it' he declared. 'the problem is they won't be able to hear you scream "Wolverines" at them over their wireless frequencies like you really should now as you go in guns blazing.'

Nike thought about that. 'You're a bunch of freaks Gibson' she told him, and that wasn't just because of their unusual genetics.

'_We're_' Gibson corrected the Caspar, 'you say "_we're_ a bunch of freaks" now ship.'

'On the bright side all those years on my own don't seem quite as bad any more' Nike responded. 'I guess the healing has begun, Query Affirmative?' the ship asked in a sardonic tone.

Gibson grinned. 'Affirmative' he replied. 'Now I prescribe some occupational therapy for warships, get out there and kill something' he said. 'It'll be cathartic.'

'It just might at that' the ship agreed as it headed towards the battle. Your shiny ass is mine, it thought, looking at the image of the mining ship at maximum magnification.

* * *

**_Note from the Author:_**

_Star League Drone fighters had very limited AI's_


	12. Chapter 12

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**SLS Nike (Caspar TQF-142M5D) - Yellow Dwarf G-2 variable Star System**

Nike opened up on the Raiders with her lasers as soon as she entered range, "Skeet" was a good nickname for them the AI decided as she started to knock them down, the problem was just how many of the things there always seemed to be. Even with a single Basestar you had well over four hundred to deal with on average plus several squadrons of Heavy Raiders which although less manoeuvrable carried more guns, a greater payload of missiles and at least a smattering of armour these days.

An entire Raider squadron that the still distant Basestar must have launched tactical-jumped almost on top of Nike, arriving less than twenty-five klicks to starboard, and they all fired off their missiles in a staggered volley. The things must have been given their orders directly before being launched from the Basestar the Caspar decided, firing off her anti-missile guns and LB X autocannon loaded with cluster rounds in an attempt to shoot down the missiles, or at least some of them, before they hit.

The Cylon guns weren't up to much, they were basically just thirty-millimetre ultra autocannon with a lower muzzle velocity than the equivalent SLDF designs, but their missiles were very nice Nike had to admit. Agile, hard to jam and fast the wretched things were too quick and too numerous to get them all and at least thirty of them impacted across the Caspars flank, the small explosive warheads causing far more severe damage than they would have if Nike's armour wasn't already so beaten up.

'That stings a bit' Nike stated as she checked the damage. 'No critical systems hit but I don't want to take much more of that treatment' she told Gibson, now already engaging the Raider squadron with her guns as they followed in their missiles. 'Running very low on cluster' the ship advised Gibson.

'I've run my guns dry almost every time I've fought Skeet' Gibson replied, 'it's damn satisfying unloading double-rate cluster on a swarm of them though' he observed, watching the screens.

'I wish I had a few thousand tons of ammo and a few more lasers for point-defence' Nike said in a tone that was almost wistful.

'Well if wishes were tabriranths then beggars would ride' Gibson responded.

'Another squadron of Raiders just jumped in eighteen klicks to port, missile volley inbound' Nike reported.

Gibson frowned. 'It's like being mugged by a gang of very determined munchkin midgets' he opined.

'Fortunately without much of a plan of action it seems' Nike replied. Once they had fired off their missiles together the new Raiders jumping in didn't seem any more organised than the ones still fighting it out with the remaining Blackwasps. They seemed eager enough to fight, they were coming in guns blazing, but they certainly weren't acting as a cohesive unit.

Forward guns still supporting the Blackwasps Nike kept going, ignoring the light though steadily accumulating damage from the Raider KEW's and keeping her eye on the prize. That mining ship was worth a lot more than a few dozen skeet in terms of both the resources it could extract and those needed to replace it, and it would soon be just more fodder for the Caspar's Naval Lasers.

When Nike came within missile range of the Raiders those which hadn't already expended them on the Blackwasps began firing them at the craft they thought of as the "Demon". There was no massed volley however this time, the individual Cylon fighters just launched as they saw fit and this made the task of knocking them down before they hit much less onerous. Even so a few missiles still leaked through to impact on the Caspar's hull, blowing away a little more armour each time. 'I'm going to need a lot more than a lick of paint and some replacement ammunition you know Gibson' Nike told the pilot.

'I've seen you inside and outside ship, you're a wreck' Gibson replied. 'Fortunately we've got a better set-up to repair and re-fit warships than any planet with a population our size has a right to' he said. 'Compared to the tonnage of armour we had to replace on _Galactica_, or the work being done to Zug you're not a major project' he told the Caspar.

Don't jump, don't jump, don't jump, Nike thought repeatedly as she bore down on the mining ship. 'Gottcha' the AI declared as Naval Lasers sliced deep into the Cylon craft, the first shot crippling it.

A pair of Heavy Raiders were coming in fast, piloted by an Eight and a Six respectively they _were_ working together and were using the other Raiders as cover and distraction as they went. Already out of missiles once they were in optimum range they fired their thirty-millimetres dry, right into the belly of the beast as they saw it the mixed high-explosive, armour-piercing and tracer rounds skittering across the ships armour occasionally biting deep where the ships internals were exposed.

A laser hit the Heavy Raider piloted by the Six, the fighter exploding as the beam cut through it's jump-drive. 'Sister!' the Eight in the identical craft screamed out before gritting her teeth, 'Frak you' she said and putting engines to full thrust headed straight towards the enemy AI vessel aiming for an obviously damaged section of hull, seconds later the Heavy Raider ploughed straight into the side of the Caspar and in doing so gave several of the other Raiders the same idea.

'They're going kamikaze on us!' Nike declared as a number of Raiders which were close enough came tearing in at full thrust.

'Suicide probably seems like a better option when you get another chance at life but they'll be backed up at the nearest Resurrection ship for a few days after this crap' Gibson remarked. He wanted to be out there in his Kirghiz so bad he could taste it right now, just lying here observing as a spectator was killing him.

Fortunately the Raiders weren't particularly sturdy or heavy but having them crash into Nike still hurt the ship. 'Enough of this, brace for acceleration' the AI told Gibson and slammed the engines to full thrust. As the gees piled up on the pilot, making it difficult for him to do so much as speak or turn his head the Caspar surged away.

A flash behind heralded a much larger Cylon vessel arriving. For a second Nike managed a successful electronic warfare attack, feeling the pain , confusion and terror of the Hybrid within but then the connection simply ended. 'They must have pulled the damn plug' Nike realised based on Gibson's descriptions of Cylon technology and ships.

Onboard the basestar Cavil looked down at the limp hybrid, the interface plug in his hand. 'Open fire on that thing' he ordered. 'Every missile we've got.'

'Targeting isn't that easy without the hybrid' a Four replied. 'Manual controls are slower even with the added by-passes we installed.'

'No excuses just fire the frakking missiles!' the Cavil yelled back.

'Firing missiles, putting ship under maximum acceleration' an Eight responded.

Nike watched the Basestar launch anti-capital ship missiles. 'I hope they want me intact because one nuke up my ass and I'm dead' the Caspar stated, firing the aft Naval Laser at the pursuing Basestar and bringing every other weapon that could be directed at the incoming missiles to bear on them.

A basestar had a lot more missile tubes than that, Nike realised, they must be having trouble working everything properly without the Hybrid the AI decided as the missiles streaked in. The Caspar could out-accelerate the basestar and it couldn't maintain the acceleration it _was_ doing for anywhere near as long, but Nike would be in missile range for a while and those things could keep up with her.

In some ways Gibson wished that this much prolonged hard acceleration _would_ black him out because pinned to the couch, unable to do anything but think about how close to death he might actually be basically sucked. His ability to take very high-gee forces by normal human standards had saved his life in a few dog-fights but sometimes unconsciousness was bliss he decided.

The Caspar was very heavily armed for a vessel its size, a destroyer hull with the firepower of a battleship and Nike _was_ hurting the Basestar but not fast or serious enough to get it to give up the chase of its wounded prey. Intriguingly now that she got a very good look at the hull and the remains of still healing previous damage to be seen there Nike realised that this thing was the same Cylon Capital Ship that the Caspar had met when rescuing Gibson and his people. 'Must be holding a grudge or something?' Nike wondered.

Gibson felt the impact and explosion of a decent-sized warhead against the ship. 'Conventional but with a decent punch' Nike commented. 'Lost a bit more armour there and I can't afford to lose much more of it' the AI stated. 'Why won't you just get lost?' Nike asked the Basestar as she pulled away still under missile fire. A few of the Raiders were trying to keep up but whilst they could out-accelerate a base-star, even one with upgraded engines, they didn't carry enough tylium to try and run-down a vessel of the Thirteenth. Fusion powered engines were a nice advantage, they were powerful and the fuel was plentiful so you could burn it _far_ more extravagantly.

'Keep firing' the Cavil insisted as the damn "Demon" ship continued to open up the gap, not only out-running the basestar but also giving itself more opportunity to shoot down the incoming missiles.

'We're doing the best we can' a Six responded.

'Another laser hit just cost us two of our missile launchers' the Four reported. 'We're starting to hurt' he said.

'It's badly damaged, look at the thing, we can't break off pursuit now' the Cavil raged.

'One or two hits to critical systems and we're frakked Brother' a Five told him. 'We still need to recover the remaining Raiders.'

'We just got another missile hit' the Cavil declared as another warhead detonated against the Earther AI. 'It can't take much more of this' he said.

'We've already proven that by removing the data-links between the Raiders and pulling the plug on the Hybrid we can fight this thing effectively' the Five said patiently. '_We_ can repair ourselves, from the looks of it that thing _can't_' he said. 'We'll wear it down, it might come apart completely in the next fight.'

'Even with the losses Raider morale should be better now at least, that's a victory in itself' the Six declared.

'I want it dead, I want its technology stripped' Cavil hissed.

'There is an installation in this system those primitive drone fighters are defending, between them and what we can salvage from the wrecks of the drones themselves we might get another boost in understanding their weapons technology' the Four said.

'Another laser hit, we're not holding up very well' the Eight declared.

Cavil ground his teeth. 'You're right, we should break off, we'll throw missiles at it until it's out of range' he agreed.

'By your command' an Eight said, cutting power to the engines.

Nike maintained acceleration until she had built up plenty of velocity then gradually reduced it for the sake of her "crew". 'Well that was bracing' the Caspar said in an amused tone.

'Bastards are learning' Gibson said, they were still doing two gees but he felt light as a feather by comparison.

'If I was in better shape I could have taken the lot of them' Nike told him confidently, 'without their network in place they're at a severe disadvantage' the Caspar AI said.

'They could jump after us again' Gibson pointed out.

'Only if they plug in their Hybrid from what you said before' Nike replied. 'I'm going to head for a distant jump-point, fully charge my Kearny-Fuchida and my Lithium-Fusion batteries on the way from the reactor' she said. 'I'm going to need some repairs at the rendezvous.'

'I think I'm going to need a new spine' Gibson complained. 'If I'd been standing upright I'd be a foot shorter by now' he said.

'But on the plus side you'd fit more of the uniforms we've got aboard' Nike told him.

Driven almost all the way inside the ship something stirred inside the wreckage of a Heavy Raider embedded in the Caspar's side. Badly injured and bruised black and blue by the acceleration a model Eight cylon collapsed back into unconsciousness after a brief moment awake, she dreamed of being crushed and slowly bled out into the cockpit of her craft.

* * *

**_Note from the Author:_**

_Reviews are always appreciated :-)_


	13. Chapter 13

__

I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble.

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**_crossing temporary jump point..._  
**  
On a more serious note, Nike didn't tell Gibson...but that last run _hurt._ She listened to the net of sensors, and it was showing a second Base-star moving into the system... _oh, son of a-_ it was closing on the planet, "Alan, I think they intend to set up housekeeping here." she said, bringing up the remote display on screen 7.

"What can you do about it?" Gibson asked.

"Well...five, four, three two..." The second Base-star was over the Drones' base. An actinic flash and the signal went dead on the support facility. "I can start, by denying them the drone-base and its central control systems, fueling dock, and spares magazine." she said, "Yield's off-should've been a full two megatonnes, I only picked up flash signature of one point five... they didn't waste any time trying to hack the base computer. One minute to transit point."

A pair of raiders snapped into being ahead of her. "I'd guess they extrapolated my course." she stated, and poured the coals back on for a moment.

The effect was similar, in some ways, to a bus hitting a turtle on a highway-or a rather large lineman punting a football.

"Nike, did you just _run over_ a couple of raiders?" Gibson asked.

"Seemed the thing to do with my point-defenses out-there's armour damage and they won't be feeling real happy about it, assuming they died and weren't just hurt real bad." she said.

She cut engine thrust, and announced, "Jump point entered..."

_Discontinuity_

John Cavil watched the "Daemon" vanish from entirely _too close_ a seat-and it gave him a small insight into the "Thirteenth's" jump-drives-a small consolation for losing two arms from his base-star as the jump-effect rippled outward.

"Someone plug the damn Hybrid back in-they're gone." he said. He turned his attention to other happenings in their new star-system. "what was that Nuke, Brother?" He demanded over datalink.

"Brother" Cavil replied..."We didn't drop it-they built it into that base on the moon. Whatever information we might've gotten from it was destroyed. The buildings on the Surface don't have as _significant_ an EM field. I'm landing Centurions right now to sweep it for sabotage devices."

John looked at the scrolling damage reports. It would take weeks to repair the damage to his base-star-or at least, weeks to re-grow with supplies what was shredded in the fighting. He linked to the Four running the mining ship. "Damage?" he asked.

"*Cough* Total loss...that energy beam went right through our deck armour into the processing equipment and lit off the Tylium dust in half our Holds, it also did severe damage to the crap jump-drives the Colonials equipped this wreck with. My bridge is still pressurized, but this ship is a total loss, we are going to have to bring in our own ships."

"I figured as much. Do you want me to send a heavy raider to pick you up, or do you want to wake up on the Resurrection ship?" John asked.

"I'll take my chances with the raider, if it's all the same to you-I've already died four times in the last week, that's enough for me." Doral said.

"I understand _that_." John said with a sardonic grin.

**_Planetside..._  
**  
The structures were heavy, linked with tunnels, and built to withstand weather while remaining air-tight.

When the Centurions entered, they relayed what they saw-and what they saw, well, it was _odd_...

The bodies were everywhere. Frozen in time, mummified by centuries in dry, neutral air.

The purpose of the place was no mystery, once inside.

Guard stations, cells...layer after layer of cells. A repeating loop with twirling red lights, and a symbol made of six crescents laid out in a triangular pattern.

The Simon leading these Centurions had spent some time de-crypting the strange language of the Thirteenth-a task made easier by examination of some of their left-behind goods and listening to their coms chatter during battles.

"Biohazard...outbreak." He said half-to-himself.

The prison had been killed by a plague.

He walked over to the nearest panel, and fitted a jack into the system...

Data flowed from the prison-complex computers, machines kept 'live' by the municipal-grade fusion unit buried under the island.

"Collect twenty bodies, bring them to the infirmary area-"He showed a Centurion where, on the map, "Have my diagnostic equipment brought down from the ship-we need to see if this plague is still here, and if it affects our kind."

_If only I had some Colonials to run live testing on..._

*** * ***

**Rendezvous Coordinates, SLS Nike...**

Jumping damaged HURT. "Alan...I've got an itch in my portside aft, where one of those Heavy Raiders charged me." Nike said.

"An 'itching'?" Alan asked.

"an Itching. Damage monitors aren't fully knocked out, or on-line, and I lost CCTV coverage for that section." She told him, "I don't know rightly if I'm leaking fuel or have a wandering arc between power feeders, but engine two's out."

"Show me a damage plot on Screen three." Alan ordered-and then he realized he'd _ordered_ her. In a way, it was kind of exciting, but in another way, he felt a kind of...sadness doing that.

a wireframe of Nike's structure formed on the screen. Most of it was blinking red.

"Nike, it looks like the internal corridor junction leading into that area's blocked by in-driven structure." he said.

"Take your fighter out, run over the surface-something's _wrong in there._" she told him, "It Itches, and I've got numb-spots."

*** * ***

**SLS Pheidippides, in-bound to rendezvous coordinates 25 Hours early...**

Captain Lombard reviewed the HPG message from _SLS Nike_ again-mentally. The message hadn't been text this time-it was full video, with all sorts of data scrolling behind Flight Leader Gibson's image.

"We're charged up, the Dropper's docked, everyone's secured?" He demanded absolute efficiency tonight-they would, at minimum, recover a man, and possibly a haul of spares...assuming that the tangle with those Cylon base-stars left much of the still-suspect Drone to salvage.

"We're green." Emmet, the ship's nav officer, announced, "All secure and we've got full charge."

"Initiate Jump." Lombard ordered.

_discontinuity_

The Caspar had looked...bigger, somehow, on the reports from Majahaul and the search-team. Bigger, and _scarier_. Floating out there now, she didn't look as tough or as frightening. _Battle damage does that..._ he corrected mentally.

"Gibson, you over there, Over?" He asked.

_"SLS Pheidippides, this is Flight Lead Gibson aboard SLS Nike, registry TQF-142M5D, boy am I glad to see you guys."_ Gibson's _voice_ sounded right.

"Alan, you remember that Bar at Texarkana?" Lombard asked.

_"I think I would, if there was one. That town's 'dry'."_ Gibson's reply was in the clear, and Lombard felt a little, tiny bit better...but not quite yet. Gibson added, "_You really SHOULD have written one in, though-I think someone would be black-marketing in that kind of setting."_

Lombard smiled, and _that_ doubt went away. "Can you come across, Al? There's some guys really, _really_ want to see you in the person..."

"_Yeah, in about twenty mikes, I've got a little tech-glitch here I'm looking into-you guys got a techie who can fix the damn Munchkin drives, Over?"_

"Depends on what's wrong with it. What IS wrong with yours, anyway?" Lombard asked casually, as the computers ran additional checks to assure that it was, in fact, Gibson's voice and not a disguised AI or collection of recordings.

"_Thirty millimeter hole straight through it, some burns and some melting, Over." _Gibson said.

"Can't really fix THAT-we can replace it, though...how's your big robot friend, Over?" Lombard asked.

_"Not that you would Care, but I'm NOT fine-thanks for asking Me...and I'm not a 'robot', Robots are big metal arms they use in Factories to do menial, repetitive tasks. I'm an Artificial Intelligence built into a Warship."_ The feminine tone was waspy, and in Lombard's experience, sounded very much like a woman during a certain time of the month...or like his girl-friend during the three weeks she spent after a parajump accident in the hospital..."_I've got heavy damage to portside aft, major loss of armor, I'm out of point-defense ammo, my missile tubes are out of action, and number two NAC turret's got stress-fractures in the trunnions on the Alpha and a burst barrel on Bravo tube, I've also got a wandering electrical fault in damage control monitors throughout the port AND Aft sections, my smallcraft bay can't hold Atmospheric pressure because the main door's buckled, and I'm down three auxiliary power units. Right now, I've got Lasers functional, but cooling's compromised, and I think we've got a Toaster Carrier group looking for my ancient, busted hull. KF integrity's fine, and the LF battery didn't-by some miracle, take a hit. I need yard time, fuel, ammo, armour plating and three structural frames replaced."_

The bridge crew looked at each other in stunned silence. "Alan...you didn't tell me she was _Sentient_." Lombard said.

"_Did too, Captain-you must not have believed it in my report._" Gibson's voice came over comms. "_She's 'safe', Captain...hell, she's saved my bacon three times so far-and she's accepted a bond-cord."_

Lombard wanted to laugh... "Where did you _Tie it_?" he asked.

_"Main data buss from the primary computer core."_ Alan told him, "_I made it out of the remains of a hacker's deck I found in the number four missile magazine...there's some things we're going to need to talk about in person, Captain...about what you'll find in the Nuke Locker and the missile mags. I'd as soon not go over it on an open channel, over._" Gibson said.

"Okay, Flight Leader, tell your...bondswoman? Bondship? that we've got reinforcements on the way, so she doesn't freak out...Understood, Query Affirmative?" Lombard ordered.

"_Affirmative, Sir._" Gibson transmitted back.

On-screen, the damaged doors started to open...and one of them broke loose, floating away on a jet of hydraulic fluid.

Gibson's Kirghiz nosed its way out on minimal thruster power, only lighting the main drives after it re-oriented to point them away from the bay. "Bring that up on magnification..."

The SensOp increased the mag on the bay-Lombard could see several clearly-damaged shapes inside-they were obvious in being SLDF built Mark-39's, as the warbook noted them with green highlighting.

"Jesus, his fighter rode in that trash-pile..." Lombard murmured.

It took all of about a minute for Gibson's fighter to make the crossing, and dock in the CV's small-craft bay.

It took _five_ minutes for the aviator to be brought to the bridge.

"You look like hell." Lombard told him.

"I feel like shit, sir. Got any food?" Gibson asked, "Nike had some three-hundered year old ration-bars, I've been living off my crash kit for the last five weeks."

"Did YOU name her that?" Lombard asked, "The only SLS Nike I know about was an Aegis that was destroyed when our ancestors were forced to make departure from the Clans..."

"Yeah, I named her-it was easier than rattling off that..." a yeoman handed Gibson a beef-and-lettuce wrap sandwich. He started wolfing it down immediately. "MMMM...that's good...MMmm anyway...I was saying it's easier than rattling off that alphanumeric string she's got for a registration number...sir, you're NOT going to be-LIEVE what I've seen..."

"Slow down, son..." Lombard cautioned, "Sandy, get the Flight leader something to drink with that...Now, what is so damn important you can't talk about it over the air?"

Alan stopped eating. "Oh, yeah...that... she slaughtered a marine boarding party that was trying to steal her for House Davion-it's why she can't repair battle damage, and couldn't hook up scavenge-lines to refuel without my help." He said, "The Marines were from the _SLS David R. Ray_."

"The _Ray_..? Crap..." Lombard's eyes went wide with doubt and amazement.

"I've seen the bodies-she didn't even have the repair-drones to kick them out after the fight." Alan said, matter-of-factly, "The corpses are real old-mummified mostly, but it's damn disturbing...and that's not the worst of it. She's been alone for almost three hundered years, and she's got nightmares about the...Wars, as in plural."

"Nightmares? Alan, that's a _frigging Space ship_. You're telling me that it _sleeps_, and has NIGHTMARES?" Lombard felt a new set of worries cropping up.

"Yeah." Alan said, "I've seen 'em on her displays...we're going to need a good shrink, someone who can handle PTSD cases when she's brought in...she feels _responsible_ for some really bad shit that isn't...hell, couldn't be, her fault-she's just not big enough for it, but when she goes down for defrag, she ends up in a cycle of nightmares about it."

"Feelings...guilt, responsibility...Alan, I sure hope it's you just projecting and anthropomorphizing. You're describing something damn dangerous." Lombard said, "Maybe something MORE dangerous than just a robot warship."

"Jump detected-it's big, and it's either Toaster or Munchkin." SensOp announded.

Lombard turned, and the Sensor Op suddenly barked, "SIR! the Caspar's moving!"

"_Cylon Warship, she's running Dark, Alan, I'll try to keep it off you guys, but it's a goddamn BASESTAR...and she's launching fighters."_ The feminine voice over the coms-_Nike, her name is Nike._ Lombard reminded himself, didn't sound tired and bitchy anymore-she sounded worried.

"Nike...do NOT engage it without backup, Dammit." Gibson leaned over the coms-grid, "You're too damaged."

_"SLS Pheidippides, this is SLS Nike, get the civilians and non-combatants clear of the area, there's one, there will be more, OVER._"

* * *

**Rendezvous coordinates...**

"Launch Fighters, Cover that...cover the _Nike_." Lombard made a snap decision. He looked over at Alan, "We've got friends coming, Al. I'd as soon not see you lose your first Warship command-if she fights but won't obey, then she leads-at least for this dance."

"I should be out there-" Gibson began.

Lombard made a chopping motion, "No, your job's _Here_ now, you're taking over the S-1 slot, you know what she's got working and the Fighter group needs that info-have a seat and start _talking_"

*** * ***

**Cylon**

"...there it is." John Cavil said, "Prepare to cut communication links..."

The subliminal roar started. "Cut It, Cut it NOW." The vertigo hit, it was definitely 'the Daemon' out there-hitting them with that weird ECM attack.

Cavil's head cleared in a moment. "Where is it?" the base-star's optical scans sought out the crippled human shp, finding it already burning.

"DRADIS has it... she's strobing all over the spectru-" the Six running the manual sensors jumped back, as if stung.

"What was _that_?" Cavil demanded.

She stared at the control board as if looking at a plate of poisonous insects...LIVE ones. "What _Happened_?" Cavil demanded.

"It shifted tactics." the six said, "Something in the DRADIS..."

Cavil glared, the DRADIS had been listening on passive..._how did it find our signal?_ It would be a question for later.

"Turn off the DRADIS recievers, we'll have to do this using visual spectrum...guess the range." Cavil said.

"We'll miss a _Lot_ doing that." the Eight, recently resurrected, spoke up. Cavil turned to berate her, and stopped himself.

"You've been inside it...insights?" He asked.

"Other than lots of massive structure and some rather large pieces of machinery, not much...but it _is_ hurt." she said, "Their jump-drive creates a...'unique' experience, especially when you're bleeding to death. Without even Passive DRADIS we've got no way to guess her range out here-no visual landmarks. Set the missiles to impact fusing and we'll have a better chance than trying to hit it with proximity fragmentation."

On the visual, they could see a 'school' of Raiders, without wireless relying on visual scanning to maintain some kind of formation, turn to keep up with the damaged warship.

"It moved fast." Two said, as the view showed the massive destroyer make a nose-down rolling turn-the ship's sheer size should have precluded such a violent manuever, and the Raiders' limited intelligence was enough for them to be taken by surprise-no ship that size, Colonial _or_ Cylon, would even _try_ fighter-scale manuevering that hard.

pinpoint flashes sparked off the ship from the raiders' missiles....

*** * ***

**Nike**

Desperation breeds strange approaches. Tabby could accellerate up to three g's in a straight line, but it doesn't take that to make a nine-gee turn-inertia is inertia. She slammed around in a nose-down Hammerhead turn and popped the Raiders' missiles against her nose-armour-the most complete of her remaining plating, while she shifted to what her prior experience told her was the Radar band the Cylons liked to use for their targeting systems.

It seemed to work-the Cylon missiles were very manueverable and hard to override, but with enough noise on the band, they were blind.

She routed the power that would've gone to her own PD systems into the EW arrays and started _playing_.

"_Nike, this is Gibson, Status, Over?_" came through the coms.

"Hi Al, why is the jumpship still here-they can't manuever and they have shit for guns. Over?" she replied.

"_Check starboard of your current heading, you've got a friendly CV and fighters-try not to spam them with your EW signals...oh, yeah, and I just got tapped for S-1 duty for this fight, Over._" Gibson's voice sounded calm.

"I've got them-I'm spamming the Cylons' targeting radar right now, and their coordination's shit, you guys want to take these little ****** offf my six, please? that Base-star needs some attention." she said.

Her request was acknowledged with six _Kirghiz_ suddenly giving the school of Raiders something to worry about.

She rolled over into an Immelmann and lined up her batteries on the Base-star.

Naval lasers drew hot lines across the base-star's surface. He was starting to try manuevering.

_let's see...closing velocities mine/his..._ part of her ran the calculations.

She stabilized her roll and lined up, putting her engines into overthrust and overriding the fault alerts from the number two engine.

"_Nike, this is S-1, what the ****** are you doing?"_ Gibson's voice sounded distressed.

"Kzinti Lesson, Al, I have to concentrate right now, this is going to be tricky." She said.

_"YOU will NOT ram that base-star, dammit!"_ Gibson shouted over the link.

"I have zero intention of ramming, S-1." She replied, adding, "You do know that exhaust velocities from a warship's sublight drives reaches near-lightspeed at flank? AND that the exhaust is a bit hotter than the core of a G-2 yellow star out to five thousand Kilometers, right?"

_"oh shit...NIKE, don't do that-we've got reinforcements on the way..."_

"And I'm sure they do too, Al. Just make sure I get a _good_ slot in the yard, okay?" she said, "Somethign with a nice view..."

The cloud of antishipping missiles was dead ahead, along with the Cylon base-star.

she retasked her forward flank batteries to anti-air, popping missiles one at a time, while she lathered on the sensor/radar spam.

She was almost on top of it...

she cut forward thrust and rolled nose-over, pointing the nozzles of her main engines at it to decelerate...

Overthrust...

SLS Pheidippedes

Alan watched the screen with a sinking feeling in his gut.

Nike charged through the enemy missile swarm, flashes of impact and detonations all over her, then she rolled over, and lit her engines off.

A five thousand kilometer spear of sun-hot fusion plasma lanced out-into, and _Through_ the Base-star like a giant's cutting torch.

A million smaller detonations followed out there...

"Jump Detected inbound."

Outside, the Raiders that had been tangling with the air-group and attacking Nike seemed to 'wake up' and fled the system.

Lombard was staring at the screen. "you survived _five weeks with that_?" he asked.

"She was...less active while I was aboard." Gibson said, and turned back to the coms. "Nike, you there, girl?" he asked.

The debris cloud from the Base-star was beginning to disperse.

"_Hi al...It hurts...all over._" she sounded tired.

"Stay with us, Nike, I'll be over there post-haste...you can arrest back to relative stationary?"

"_Working on it...told you...wasn't going to ram...didn't, but I'm banged up...need some rest..._"

Gibson climbed out of the couch, "I need to borrow a shuttle." he told Lombard.

"Let's." Lombard said, "XO, you've got the Conn, I'm going over to the Caspar with _Captain_ Gibson."

"What about the reinforcements? They'll be in coms range soon." the executive officer asked.

"Tell 'em what happened." Lombard said with a shrug, "I'm going to go look at our new bonds...person for myself."

* * *

**SLS Nike...**

The interior airlock from the the flight-bay to the rest of the ship's pressurized areas was still, amazingly, intact. Nike's 'dogfighting' had thrown the damaged and disfunctioned drone fighters around like tinker-toys, leaving dents and long scrapes all over the bay.

"Nike? Nike?? Answer me..." Gibson had to use the manual door controls to access the pressure decks.

The lighting was...poor.

"Clik-clik-clik-clik..." a point-defense gun-mount facing the doorway rattled on empty chambers. "She's out." Gibson told Lombard, "We pulled the ammo from those for the externals last week."

Lombard looked at the gun-mount nervously, and followed Alan deeper in.

The short corridor ended near Nike's jump-core, the pressure decks were set up deep inside.

"That was a hell of a fight, might be we're looking at a wreck, not a ship." Lombard said.

"She's here." Alan told him, sounding more confident than he was.

The 'crew area' was small-a rough, two-deck donut intended to carry an Observer/controller team during the Caspar's shakedown trials. It was NOT intended to serve as a long-term habitat. Most of the furnishings had been likewise tossed around during hard manuevering today-leaving empty water-bottles and sundry other debris floating in their path.

"How do we wake her up, then?" Lombard asked.

"Depends on how deep she went this time-probably pretty deep if she's not paying attention to the security guns at the door." Gibson told him.

The bridge wasn't the mess Alan had feared it would be-everything here wasn't just securely bolted down, much of it was welded in place-a cheaper method of installing the crash-couches, especially as they lacked escape-pod rails.

Nike's screens, except for Monitor 7, were dark.

Monitor 7 was running a nightmare.

"oh CRAP." Alan said.

"Looks like a normal-oh..." Lombard watched Beta VII die in full colour. The image changed to a fleet engagement.

Then, the Trial again.

Lombard called one of the Engineers in from their shuttle.

"Binkley, what do you make of this?" he asked.

Binkley, a computer-sciences major at Circe's university, looked at the imagery, and the fragments of code that slipped through the rendering.

"Recursion loop." he said, "nasty one. Usually happens when a system's given an instruction set it can't complete-it keeps trying until it burns out, or the loop's broken...I'd say this one's your 'guilt complex', Sir."

"Clarify, for Captain Gibson, son." Lombard instructed.

"Well, your report said her core instruction was a simplified 'serve the Star League', right? and she saw the Star League come apart in a big civil war...I'd say if she had, in the past, tried to do something to stop it, and that something went balls-up, then it _could_ be the cause of this-especially if the action violated some other protocol under a situational-ethics routine, but didn't pan out."

"They _have those_?" Gibson asked.

"It's theoretical. Some of the theory's close enough to what we've seen with the Toasters that they're pulling out anything that talks about Star League era AI research at the Uni...just in case something could give us a lever on the Toasters." Binkley said quietly, "Of course, the University would have a spazzfest if they got ahold of a live, non-Toaster AI as powerful as this one."

"Can you fix it?" Lombard clarified.

"Not here...shit, we don't have half the tools I'd need to even dig out what might be wrong with it..." Binkley shook his head, "THOSE would be at New Circe."

Lombard and Gibson exchanged looks. "We'll need to either jump, or tow her back with something that won't crack the jumpcore." Lombard said, "I'll testify in her favour...if you can figure out a way to snap her back to reality at _Least_ long enough to make a transit back."

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Never underestimate the firepower potential of a nuclear drive that can make a 680,000 ton ship pull three gees of acceleration :-p_


	14. Chapter 14

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Eighteen Hours, Post-Battle...**

"...try it." Binkley slid out of the open access panel.

"Nike?" Gibson spoke into the mic pickup.

On the screen, a 'gibson' walked into the courtroom.

The Bailiff stopped what he was doing, and all eyes-all those dead eyes, turned on Gibson's avatar.

"If it please the Court, I have instructions from the Senior Officer present requiring the Defendent be released into military custody...as in LIVE military custody. She has duties to perform, and we are on a time-table." He snarled.

"Got it, there's increased activity in that second core." Binkley said, "it's hostile. It's also hardware-integrated too much to just yank a plug."

Gibson snarled silently, and looked over at the Specialist, who was already typing something into his 'gamer's deck'.

"What're you doing?" Gibson asked.

"Confirmation numbers, override codes, shit I know that I'm not supposed to know." Binkley said.

"How do you know it, then?" Gibson asked.

"You know how some people get expedited into service ahead of their due-date?" Binkley replied, "Well..._I_ am not allowed to go on shore-leaves, or anywhere on-base when we're at a surface base unsupervised-and my hitch ends about ten years after the normal enlistment."

Gibson was surprised. "That's un-orthodox. Usually they'd just jail you or something, right?"

Binkley was chewing his lower lip in concentration, but answered, "Not when the prisoner is sporting an ASVAB score in the low three hundereds with ninety-ninth percentile proficiencies in fields the Military has deemed 'critical to the War effort'..." he finished the input string, and looked up, "If I'd been smarter about how people interact in person, they'd never have caught on that I wasn't supposed to be there, much less that I'd been sieving money to cover my tuition."

The dimmed panel lights in the Bridge lit up, and the other displays went active.

"Alan...I'm back. How did you do that?" Nike asked.

"I didn't...the Jailbird here did." Gibson said, and looked squarely at Binkley, "What about when the war is over?" he asked.

"Hopefully I'll have enough 'good time' that they'll just let me stay IN." Binkley replied, "The only thing I know for sure, is that I didn't 'fit' in the World, but I fit in the Service...or at least, they accept me for who I am, provide the 'structure', y'know, sir?"

"You can't get promoted with that kind of thing on your record, Binkley." Gibson said.

"I don't _care_. Eating shipboard is better than dumpster-diving, I don't have to worry about clothes 'cause the Navy gives me something to wear, and I don't have to worry about money-nobody to impress with a hot-rod bike or fancy crap I don't need...and there's ALWAYS something to do-and I don't have to dodge loan-sharks to do it." Binkley told him, "I'll happily bounce from ship to ship for the rest of my life if it means never having to hide from mobsters, deal with land-lords, or wonder where my next meal's coming from."

*** * ***

**Grav Deck Lounge, SLS Pheippides**

"...good beer." Alan Gibson said.

"You okay leaving her alone like this?" Lombard asked. The two Captains were having a drink.

"Shockley's people are still aboard, at least for another day or two, making sure the bodies are given last rites and a burial.. of sorts." Alan replied, "I'll miss having artificial gravity, but it's only for a few weeks."

"Heading back to the Barn?" Lombard asked.

"Yeah, something like that-she needs plating and some hull re-work, plus the naval autocannon mounts, and about a million basic repairs that we don't have the manpower or the time to do out here-she's only three hundered years late on a D-check...speaking of the trip back in..." Alan paused, a fork loaded with Branth steak hovering over his plate.

"Here it comes..." Lombard said, "WHO? I can let you have a couple fighters and two engineering rates, but we're short handed."

"I want to borrow your Slicer." Gibson said, "Binkley."

"Specialist _Binkley?_ Al, he's not the first choice I'd have expected. I thought you'd for sure want Sarah..." Lombard said with a grin.

"Sarah I'll take if you're offering, but I think I'll have more need of Binkley." Gibson said, "He managed to get _Nike_ out of her self-flagellating funk, and he's been tracing the cause-I don't think it's all internal to be honest. I think someone _did that to her_." He took his bite and leaned back, chewing, "If you want to keep Sarah, well, Strong forearms and a good grip are probably about as useful as regular cardiac excercise, and I need someone who can maybe keep up with the computer more than someone who's fun in the sack and average with a wrench."

Lombard looked thoughtfully at Alan Gibson, and sighed. "You're taking this job seriously..hell, Al, you're turning into a proper fucking officer. BEFORE I decide on whether you get to borrow, as you put it, Binkley, You should look at his 201 file, especially the comments in the Medical section."

"How's that, I mean he's definitely a skinny kid..." Alan began.

"Binkley's got a weak heart, and he's failed the last two FitReps. If he wasn't 'drafted by the Court' he'd be unsuitable for service, Al-your ship pulls stunts out there _I_ wouldn't pull in a fighter. The boy is Four-EFF everywhere but that brain of his...and it's a superb brain, I want him back in as-good-or-better condition than he was in when I loaned him to you."

"How'd that happen?" Alan asked.

"Born that way. Congenital heart defect, asthmatic tendencies, and we just got his vision fixed six months ago." Lombard said, "He _was_ dramatically near-sighted, damn near blind."

Alan frowned, "Say again? How'd he get this old with that bad a pair of peepers?"

"Every society has poverty somewhere, Alan. Even ours. Binkley grew up in a workfare flat when he wasn't homeless." Lombard told him, "The kid impressed the Judge at trial as much with how he's tried to turn his life around as he did with the skills and...improvisation he used in the attempt. When you get back to New Circe, don't encourage him to visit his mom."

"Why not?" Alan asked.

"Thanks to him being Military now, she's in an in-patient programme, but she's a Morph junkie. Nobody kicks Morph. I've checked up on her periodically and...it wouldn't be good for him, okay?" Lombard said.

"You grew up in Workfare..." Alan remembered.

"Yeah. DON'T let him visit family." Lombard insisted.

"Sounds like you're going to approve me borrowing him." Alan said.

"Only if you think you can hold up your end, Alan. Keep him away from his ma, and try not to get into a tussle until you're safe at home." Lombard took a sip of his coffee, and put the cup down, "I've put too much effort into that kid to have a couple months with you ruin him-the boy has a future in the Service- don't fuck it up..."

*** * ***

**Resurrection Ship 5, former Star League prison planet...**

Simon climbed out of the resurrection vat.

"Well?" Brother Cavil asked.

"Definitely a virus...and it likes to eat Cylon." he said, "The other tests I ran show the base has been...inactive, for about three hundered and twenty years."

"You didn't bring it back with you?" Cavil asked.

"No." Simon said, "it's nothing THAT special, but it's aggressively designed, a fast-mutator, and based on what I saw looking over the bodies down there, especially their genetics and what I could understand of its structure, I'd say it's a fast-mutator." he accepted a robe, "Someone _made_ that thing-designed it, and I think they _tested it_ here."

"Anything else?" Brother Cavil asked.

"base records-the logs, the video...this prison was in operation for more than a century before they used it to test that weaponized virus. There are more than a thousand homeworlds listed just in the prisoner records." Simon said, "Including at least three variations on 'earth', including a 'New Earth', a 'Black Earth', a 'Terra' with 'Earth' in parenthesis...this 'Star League' is huge."

"WAS huge." Brother Cavil said, "If it still WERE huge, they'd have dealt with us entirely by now."

"The Drone?" Simon asked.

"Could be-maybe they built their cylons, like the Colonials built US, and like US, their cylons overthrew their masters... It could be that my Brother has been tangling with the actual 'land lord' out here-maybe this 'Star League' is really just the servants and that machine is the master." Cavil said it, then he rejected the idea himself, "No...thats' not the answer...at least, not the WHOLE answer..."

"Could it be that the war was so violent that we've found the only remnant?" Simon offered.

"Now _that..._" Cavil smiled, "THAT has a ring of truth." He frowned, "Of course, that also means they've probably got a cure for your 'advanced' biological weapon already. The empire blew itself away, and we're looking at...and dealing WITH what's left of it."

"If there's one..." Simon started.

Cavil nodded, "There are more." he agreed.

*** * ***

**SLS Nike, Pre-Jump preparations...**

It felt...weird having this many people aboard. "Nike, you're okay with this, right?" Gibson asked over his headset.

"We'll see-if they make too much of a mess, I might just open the pressure decks to space." she said.

"um...you're joking, right?" Gibson asked, his heartbeat had gone up a notch.

"Yeah...what, was my delivery flat again?" she asked.

"Don't kid about that stuff." He told her.

A couple of Wrenches came over from the _Titan's_ crew to look after the four _Kirghiz_ that occupied her hangar-bay now, in place of the damaged _Voidseekers_.

There was plenty of extra room on the Hangar deck, -four was all that the combined fleet of two CV's and Phippy could spare, which was good in a way-there wasn't an empty bunk-space on the pressure deck now-there were even a couple of hammocks on the Bridge, and a sign-out log for the sole Lavatory aboard, and the other rooms were crammed with triple-stacked bunks spot-welded to the deck and ceiling, and crammed with non-perishable foodstuffs. Conditions inside _Nike_'s pressure-decks were actually _tighter_ than aboard a dropship a hundredth her mass-leaving the hangar deck as the only space besides the bridge where the entire fifteen personnel added to Gibson's 'crew' for the trip back could actually assemble in something resembling comfort.

"Door's secure, no leaks detected." She reported.

"Attention! Captain on Deck!" she opened the inner lock door and Gibson walked out to his assembled 'crew'...

"Most of you will be disembarking when we reach New Circe. There are a few ground-rules that you all need to be aware of before we get under-weigh." Alan said, "First off, we have _one_ Head to handle fifteen people, and it's got ONE toilet. Not only will your shipmates be pissed if you somehow stop it up or break it, but the ship's computer might just open the deck to space if the smell gets too bad-that means if you're on Honeypot duty, you don't fucking shirk. Everyone gets honeypot duty-even me. Duty rotations will go day-by-day, one day on, fourteen off. I may see fit to interrupt the rotation as a fitting punishment for screwing up...so if you're going to, just remember-I don't especially like mucking out a honeypot, and if I can avoid it by extending the schedule with screw-ups, I _will_. The next thing is our living space...such as it is. Bunking is in shifts, because we have seven beds and fifteen people, plus one rack set aside for medical emergencies. Sleep schedules are posted, I'm sure you guys remember your long-term shuttle duty in training. If the ship tells you something, it's wise to listen up-_Nike_ doesn't like to repeat herself any more than I do. You'll notice that we're all anchored using mag-boots instead of walking on nice, level, artificial-gravity decks. There's no AG on this ship, no inertial compensation either. I'd suggest keeping your Gee-suit gear close at hand in case we bump into more Toasters before we can jump, and keep your Hat handy at all times..."

* * *

**_Note from the Author:_**

_It's customary to show your appreciation with a review if you're enjoying the tale..._

_... just saying is all ;-)_


	15. Chapter 15

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Yellow/White Dwarf star system, 140LY coreward/spinward of New Circe, June 11, 3046...**

_Discontinuity_

Something hurt. Nike ran a BRU check, and found she was leaking Helium..._CRAP!_ Number four tank was leaking _fast_-she began shunting the coolant to the number two and three tanks to compensate, "Gibson! I've got a problem." she announced.

Crew tensions were already running high-week after week cramped into her under-sized pressure decks-decks intended to support a team of five to fifteen for the duration of a single jump and _short_ transits...

_Fourteen seconds, no response...what are they doing on my bridge?_ she refocused her attention.

"..._Fault_, I didn't eat the fucking strawberrys!" _Sarah_, the 'lead' Wrench for the Fighters and what amounted to _Nike_'s acting Chief Engineer, was red-faced and arguing with Sgt. Devin, the acting senior Marine officer.

They were arguing about freeze-dried strawberries.

Gibson was trying to keep the two women from gutting one another right there on the deck, while Binkley...

Nike ran internal search, and found the ship's "Computer Specialist" in the compartment they'd rigged as a temporary sick-bay.

"Gibson!! WE HAVE A PROBLEM!!!" Nike ran the gain all the way up to just-below hazardous on the PA outputs, drowning out the argument and making every member of the improvised 'crew' flinch and cover their ears. "The argument about fruit-rations can wait, I've got a blow-out on the number four Helium tanks."

Alan Gibson seemed relieved to have the ship intervene, or maybe it was the after-stun look on Sarah and Devin's faces. "CCTV, Nike give me an image if you can." Gibson said.

"observe visual on screen two." Nike said, lowering her volume.

"Seals are ruptured." Sarah said, "I can't replace those without a yard."

"Can you patch it?" Gibson asked, involuntarily revealing his ignorance of KF drives.

"NO." Sarah said, "Shit doesn't weld, and even if I tried and it DID, the heat-stress would create microfractures-the next jump would be...explosive." Sarah said.

_"_Fucking _great_, we're s_tranded_." Devin barked.

"You could always load up the majority of the crew on the _Kirghiz_ and use the Colonial drives to get 'em home." Nike offered.

"What's our position relative to New Circe?" Gibson asked.

Nike ran the course plots. "About one-forty Light Years, give or take, plus two AU." She said, "Accounting New Circe's position relative to its sun."

Gibson did the math mentally. "Four on three of the Kirghiz, plus three on the last one...no. Not enough fuel." He said, "Not enough air, life-support, food or water, either."

"Son of a _Bitch!!_" Devin snarled, "I was transferring to a _Shore_ billet, dammit!"

"Status on your HPG?" Gibson asked.

"HPG's still good, green, charged, ready to make a call." Nike said.

"So...we can call for help, but we aren't going _anywhere_ faster than Einstein will let us." Gibson said.

"There's a HABITABLE planet-well, mostly habitable, I think." Nike said, "at least, according to the records I ripped from that dead carrier. I think the crew could do with some shore-leave time."

"Nike, Display the data." Gibson ordered.

A model of the system appeared-scales adjusted to allow the non-navigators to understand it.

"Here. Orbiting this gas giant-the moon has an oxygen/nitrogen mix atmosphere, one Gee standard gravity, 77% water on the surface, and an average surface temperature of 25.28 Degrees Celsius. Pressure is one atmosphere standard at the surface."

"aaand the problem with it?" Gibson asked.

"Earthquake activity's pretty high-I mean, it _is_ orbiting a gas-giant close in to a variable star." Nike said.

"You got a survey?" Devin asked.

Nike ran through the accumulated data on said planetary body..."Here we go...Oh, and it's got a three hundered year seasonal cycle-when the survey was done, it was just coming out of one of the periodic 'winters'...we're going to need a survey, first."

"Me. PICK ME.." the Pilots had gathered on the Bridge after Nike's outburst, just in time to hear and see the three-hundered and twenty year old survey data. the bridge erupted in audio chaos again.

Nike upped Gibson's throat-mic and routed it through the speakers.

"HOLD IT!" his bellow reached into every pressurized corner of the warship.

"Now...first, I'm going to assign two of you to do over-flights, make sure our hypothetical moon is _even there_, then, we'll pull into orbit, do some sensor and atmosphere scans-that data's three centuries old, no telling _what_ might be down there we _don't know about yet._" He stood up a little straighter. "NOW...once all the scut-work's done, we're going to work out a shore-leave _Rotation_, so that if, say...we get a visit from our Toaster friends, we don't end up stranding the entire crew to be butchered by Cylon ground units...we'll keep that rotation up, until help arrives, _assuming it's safe._..now, in the meantime...I've got to make some HPG calls, so...Tommy, you take Binkley in your jump-seat with a sensor-package in the bomb-bay, Elaine, you're flying his six in case there's actual hostiles that might've found our little habitable slice of open space. The plot here shows we're sitting six AU off of it, so I'll be expecting ten minute check-ins. NOBODY lands until there's been an orbital survey, and I've picked out who goes on the Landing party."

The volume was still turned up. Gibson motioned for Nike to lower it...

"Well? what are you people waiting for, engraved invitations? _Get to work._"

"Why Binkley, sir?" Tommy asked.

"He's small." Gibson said, "He's short, skinny, light-weight, and he doesn't take up a lot of space for the shit he does-and he's the only member of the crew that _didn't_ come tumbling in here as soon as we got out of jump."

* * *

**SLS Nike (Caspar TQF-142M5D) - yellow/white Dwarf star system – June 19th 3046 **

'We're just not high-priority enough to send help straight away I guess' Gibson replied as he sat alone on the ships "bridge" for once. With space aboard at a premium it was a luxury that had only returned once they reached orbit above the large moon and started sending crew down on rotation for shore leave. He had sent requests for assistance via HPG to one of the various ships stationed on picket duty a hundred light years or so out from New Circe, and it would have relayed the message on over a week ago, but so far there was still no sign of rescue.

'I'm still trying to get used to the idea that we're a hundred and forty light-years out and they could get a ship here in less than two and a half hours' Nike responded to her "Captain" whilst simultaneously carrying out numerous other monitoring tasks. 'The next rotation is scheduled in an hour, you're due your turn on the rock once the shuttle has returned' the AI told him.

'I've told the sergeant she can take my place' Gibson told the ship, 'and _please_ don't refer to one of my fighters as a shuttle' he requested.

'It weighs more than a late twentieth century space-shuttle and it's got a passenger hold Alan' Nike pointed out.

'If you put a child safety seat on a Main Battle Tank it wouldn't make it a family car' Gibson retorted. 'We're just lucky that the Spook Teddies designed the thing so that you could put in a ten-ton bay for carrying troops if you had to' he added.

'Spook Teddies?' Nike queried.

'Clan Ghost Bear' Gibson explained, 'they first designed the Kirghiz' he told the AI.

'I'll add that nickname to my list along with the Green Turkeys, Mist Worms and Heck's Rocking Horses' Nike replied in what seemed like genuine amusement.

'Just make sure to say bad things about Nicolas Kerensky every so often too and it'll make getting accepted into our society a whole lot easier' Gibson advised. 'Oh and say "Clanner Bastards" a lot, that's important' he said, looking at a display. 'I never knew we had another inhabitable world this close to New Circe' he said, looking at the survey results.

'Binkley knew that your ancestors had checked it out before finding New Circe' Nike replied.

'He must have paid more attention at school to the history lessons that weren't about battles than I did' Gibson reasoned. 'It's not such a bad place, warmer than home anyway' he noted.

'It is at the moment but when the next ice-age rolls around it'll be another story and the frequent earthquakes wouldn't be so easy to live with' Nike replied. 'It looks like the Star League Exploration Service did a decent enough job seeding the moon with Terran plant and animal species three centuries back because they took hold nicely.'

'Ah they were good at finding worlds but they never found New Circe though did they?' Gibson asked.

'No but be fair who would have looked in that nebula?' Nike responded. 'You only found it by accident yourselves didn't you, Query Affirmative?'

'Affirmative' Gibson admitted. New Circe had been a great find, it was the ideal bolt-hole for a society that didn't want to be found. 'I was surprised at finding that failed colony where we ran into you to be honest' he said. 'We didn't think there was anyone else that close' he said.

'Without me there the next time some roving deep periphery pirates poke their noses this far rimward they'll hit that planet for slaves' Nike said regretfully.

'Oh my guess is the Lord Protector will have them picked up and transported to New Circe' Gibson told the ship. 'It's not too far away with Colonial FTL and we've got plenty of star-lift if we use Munchkin ships.'

Nike was immediately suspicious. 'I hope you're not saying that you see a whole lot of bondcords in their future' she asked.

'They're civilians not defeated enemies' Gibson replied, 'we'll pick them up, we might have to herd them onto ships maybe if they resist' he said, 'but we wouldn't enslave them we'll feed them, house them, provide medical care and once they're settled we'll give them jobs and send their kids to school' he said. 'In a generation they'll just be like any most any other citizens of New Circe... just shorter until we can get to work on their DNA.'

'That's not really give them much choice in the matter' Nike replied evenly.

'If you think that any of them would want to go back after we've raised their standard of living that much you're deluded' Gibson responded.

'It's still forcible abduction' Nike maintained.

'And if they're still pissed about it later they can make their feelings clear at the ballot box once we've enfranchised them... which we would' Gibson replied.

'And would you explain that if they take citizenship they're not just sending their kids to school they're sending them into your army?' Nike asked.

'We all have to serve, pay back something to society' Gibson replied, 'some of us do well enough in our two years to get offered a place in the Regulars but the vast majority are only soldiers for a very small proportion of their lives.'

'Unless they get sentenced to your Regular Military like Binkley' Nike pointed out.

'He's very much the exception to the rule you know' Gibson responded. 'I read his file, both parents were Accidents as were three of his four grandparents which is why he's munchkin-sized' he said. 'Any capitalist liberal democracy is going to have winners and losers and Binkley just doesn't look very employable' he said. 'Unemployment and criminality is low on New Circe but they aren't zero and the poor bastard lucked out in life' he continued. 'He's just lucky that the SLDF had a place for him.'

'You know New Circe is really _not_ the utopian society you people portray it to be' Nike observed.

'Utopia is for philosophers, we settle for having a democratic government with a free press, a high standard of living, enough social safeguards to look after the people that fall through the cracks and enough military might that we can protect ourselves' Gibson declared. 'Look at the Inner Sphere or the Clans if you want to see shithole planets, New Circe isn't perfect but it's a lot closer than most' he declared passionately.

'You know if you're going to make a stirring patriotic speech like that it plays better if you're standing in dress uniform in front of a gigantic Star League flag' Nike told him.

Gibson mouthed a few obscenities. 'Why the hell did they program an AI with sarcasm?' he asked in annoyance.

'To keep the wetware in the command chair grounded' Nike replied. 'Anyway I worked out most of the nuances to do it right myself' she said.

'I'm adding getting that fixed to my list' Gibson vowed. 'Along with getting the hatches between compartments made bigger' he said. 'We did that to our ships years ago.'

'If you didn't go through them in such a rush you wouldn't bang your head as often' Nike told him. 'It's a good thing they added a thicker skull to those genetic improvements isn't it, Query Affirmative?'

'Affirmative, but that was for an advantage in combat, making it more difficult to smash our brains in with entrenching tools and shit, not for dealing with low doorways' Gibson replied. At least he didn't do it as often as the male SLDF marines, poor bastards, he thought sympathetically.

'Jump signature, fifty-thousand klicks out' Nike reported in an urgent tone of voice. 'Colonial or Cylon drive system, there's not enough of an EM spike for it to be a Kearny-Fuchida even if we weren't so close to a gravity well' she said. 'Weapons going hot, what I've still got of them' the Caspar added.

Gibson was about to order the pilots aboard to their fighters when Nike reported an SLDF transponder code from the ship that had just arrived. 'What ship?'

'IFF reads as BSG 62, Colonial Battlestar _Pegasus_' Nike told him.

Gibson grimaced. 'Shit' he swore.

'Bad guys?' Nike asked in confusion, the Caspar had thought the Colonials were allies.

'No in terms of them fighting the Cylons with us, yes in terms of them being scum' Gibson replied flatly.

'That thing is huge' Nike stated, taking a good look. It must have been pushing eighteen-hundred metres in length and was bulky too.

'The Beast is a big frakking bitch alright' Gibson agreed.

'We're being hailed, transmission states it is Pegasus Actual on the horn' Nike told him.

'Well better him than one of his crew' Gibson replied. 'Put him on' he said.

* * *

**SLS Nike (Caspar TQF-142M5D) - yellow/white Dwarf star system – June 19th 3046 **

As soon as the bay sealed and pressurised the hatch opened on the Colonial Raptor and Commander Lee "Apollo" Adama floated out, the pilot having already shut down the AG field aboard the fifty-ton craft. It was one of the up-gunned versions with a pair of fixed fifty-millimetre LB X Ultra Autocannon as carried on the Kirghiz slung underneath as well as a number of Lightning-Javelin missiles. 'Permission to come aboard' he requested in reasonable English, looking at the officer in SLDF uniform who had just arrived and was now floating nearby waiting to greet him.

'Permission granted, sorry about the lack of gravity Commander' Gibson apologised.

'I'm just glad I skipped lunch' Lee said as he used his feet to gently push off from the Raptor towards the Wolverine pilot. 'I haven't done many hours in zero-gee since the Academy' he admitted.

Well you could stand to lose a few pounds, Gibson thought to himself, the younger Adama had been skipping more exercise sessions than meals recently from the looks of him. Lee reached out his hand and they shook as best they could just as another Colonial Officer emerged from the Raptor. 'This is Ensign Abel Thornton who I'm assigning to the Nike as my liaison' he continued, introducing the other man.

Thornton kicked off from the Raptor himself and floated to meet Gibson holding out his own hand to shake. The wolverine looked at the hand for a moment then turned away from the Ensign without taking it. 'I don't think we need one of your crew aboard thank you Commander' Gibson told Lee Adama flatly.

'If we're going to be giving your busted ship a piggy-back ride back to New Circe I'm going to have one of my people onboard' Lee told him with finality.

'I don't like the idea of getting a piggy-back ride, I prefer to think of it as me being on top which I guess makes _Pegasus_ my bitch' a voice interjected loudly via the speakers in the flight bay.

'Nike, be nice to our guests' Gibson chided with some amusement written on his face. 'Sorry about that, you shouldn't have made that comment on the wireless asking if we were just bringing her back to be scrapped for parts before you came over' he told the Commander. 'Nike is sensitive about her appearance.'

'I'm hoping for a complete makeover and a whole new wardrobe when we get to New Circe' Nike declared, 'I hear lamillar ferro-carbide is back in this season' Nike said. 'Of course I'll need to accessorise, would a few LRPPC's be too flashy?'

Lee Adama's eyes widened. 'That's actually the ship?' he asked in surprise.

'Caspar TQF-142M5D' Gibson confirmed.

'Nike to my friends... you can call me TQF-142M5D until further notice' the AI told the Colonials.

'It's like having a lucid Hybrid running the ship' Thorton said in mild awe, he had been chosen for this job because he spoke the best English of any of the junior officers.

'Less goo involved from what I hear' Nike responded, 'neither lying in it or having the stuff between my ears... which I also don't have, ears I mean, but I've got great antenna arrays' the ship announced. 'So how exactly does this work?' Nike asked. 'You hauling me back I mean?'

Lee looked to his Ensign to answer. 'Well' Thorton began, weirded out at talking to a ship, 'although two of your Kearny-Fuchida drives interfere with each other in close proximity this isn't true of two of our drives, or one of ours and one of yours' he said. 'We also don't need any kind of special docking collar to expand a jumpfield around another vessel being carried, like... _you_ would to carry a dropship' the Ensign continued, 'simple hull contact is enough as long as you're close enough.'

Lee decided to continue himself. 'Older battlestars like _Galactica_ could only project a jumpfield a limited distance from the main hull, that's why she has to pull in her flight-pods before engaging her FTL' he explained, 'but _Pegasus_ can project a field further out hence the fixed flight-pods' he continued, 'which are actually larger than this ship is' he noted. '_Galactica_ has carried Triumph Class Dropships on her hull, we'll just doing the same thing with Nike here but it might take us a while to secure her' he admitted. Whilst a fraction the size of the ship that would be carrying her Nike still massed over two-thirds of a million tons and that would require some thought.

'I'll be gentle' Nike told them in amusement.

'That's enough' Gibson told the ship sternly.

'Why does it sound like a woman?' Lee queried.

'Because ships are traditionally female I suppose?' Gibson reasoned. 'Did you like the name I chose?' he asked the Commander.

'Goddess of Victory, very apt for a warship' Lee replied. 'A few of my people might consider it blasphemous though, given that it's a machine-intelligence too' he added.

'I promise not to try and pass myself off as a minor Lord of Kobol' Nike promised, 'even if I can do wrath-of-god damn well' the AI claimed.

'You might suit the Cylon idea of God better Nike' Gibson replied.

'Thou shalt have no other AI deity before me' the ship declared haughtily.

The two Colonials looked at each other then back to Gibson. 'Don't worry' the pilot said, 'Nike hasn't got religion, just sarcasm' he reassured them.

Gibson got Binkley to show the two Colonials the accessible areas of the ship while he had a private word or two with Nike inside an airlock, one of the only places you actually could go on the crowded ship without being overheard. 'Remember the munchkins are ludddites and their attitude to AI's makes my people thoughts on the subject of Caspar's look wildly enthusiastic' he said. 'Try and sound more... obedient and less snarky' he advised.

'Yes master' Nike replied, entertained by his request.

'And you could do it less with me too for that matter' Gibson told the ship. 'I'm supposed to be your Captain and your bondholder' he pointed out. 'I don't get crap from the rest of the crew.'

'Ah but there's a difference there Alan' Nike responded, 'you can flush _them_ out of this airlock for mutiny whereas _I_ can expose you to hard vacuum whenever the fancy takes me' she said.

'That's _exactly_ the kind of joke you don't want to be making in front of the Colonials' Gibson told the ship seriously.

'It was a statement of fact actually but whatever gets you through the day' Nike replied. 'Okay, something I've wanted to ask' the AI continued, 'why did you shake the Commander's hand but not the Ensigns?'

'Lee Adama was transferred to _Pegasus_ from _Galactica_, he's not disgraced by the previous actions of the ship's crew' Gibson explained.

'What actions?' Nike queried, he had called the _Pegasus_ crew scum beforehand and by his tone he meant it.

Gibson leaned back against a bulkhead. 'Back when the Cylon's first attacked the Twelve Colonies the _Pegasus_ was under the command of an Admiral named Cain' he began. 'Both battlestars were ignorant of the survival of the other and both ended up with a number of civilian ships in tow as the civvies looked to the remaining military for help and protection' he said.

'Which is what the military is for' Nike observed.

'Yeah that's what they thought on _Galactica_' Gibson said. 'However Cain looked at the civilian ships and had a different idea' he said. 'She ordered all their supplies seized and any useful personnel to be forcibly conscripted into service on _Pegasus_.'

'You're kidding?' Nike responded in horror.

'Oh it gets _much_ worse' Gibson told the ship. 'Needless to say an awful lot of the "draftees" didn't _want_ to be forced to be crew so Cain orders the families of anyone that refuses to be put up against a bulkhead and shot' he said. 'And yes, civilians _were_ shot' he added.

'The crew obeyed her orders?' Nike asked incredulously.

'As opposed to relieving her of command, and/or shooting her like they should have, yes' Gibson confirmed. 'So then after taking their supplies and shooting some innocent civilians, Cain orders the jumpdrives of the civilian ships to be stripped out for spare parts and then jumps away leaving fifteen civilian vessels and the people they have aboard to the Cylons' he said.

A list of crimes started running through Nike's mind; Brigandage, Piracy, Kidnapping, Conduct Un-Becoming an Officer, Conduct Prejudicial to the Service, Unlawful Orders offences and General War Crimes. 'Surely this was illegal under Colonial Law too, military and otherwise?' she asked.

'Sure but in the circumstances they let it slide, especially after Cain was killed by a skinjob' Gibson replied. 'They're lucky we don't put half of them against a bulkhead ourselves' he continued bitterly. 'The Lord Protector says we have to work with them, and so we do, but I'll be damned if I'll shake hands with one of the sons-of-bitches and if one of them walks into a bar or anywhere else where we are every Wolverine walks out.'

'Getting ostracised isn't exactly punishment fitting the crime' Nike stated.

'When we beat the Toasters the first thing that's going to happen to a lot of crew with _Pegasus_ shoulder patches is going to be facing a Trial of Grievance in the name of the civilians they murdered and abandoned' Gibson stated in a determined tone. 'If they aren't going to face the judgement of _their_ laws they'll sure as hell face the judgement of _ours_' he said venomously.

Nike could hear the anger in his voice, the idea that someone in the military, even not _his_ military, doing what the crew of the _Pegasus_ had done was an anathema to everything he believed deep-down. 'Seyla' the Caspar agreed, some of these Clan words and traditions had an appeal on occasion Nike decided.

* * *

**Bridge Area...**

"...displays were originally intended for testing by the shipyard, shakedown trials, and periodic fitness examinations." Nike was telling the Colonials as Gibson came out of the Airlock. He noted she was using Caprican, and translating to english through his headset-it was a little distracting at first.

"So...you weren't EVER supposed to have a crew." Lee Adama asked.

"Nope. I was built using many of the same structures as the {i]Lola[/i] class destroyers' third model, but denser, with a fairly narrow mission profile. My pressurized volume is about ten percent of what a standard, crewed Lola III would have. The additional volume is mostly taken up with structural reinforcement and mission systems. Because of this, they didn't provide sufficient insulation to protect a live crew from side-effects of my Electronic Warfare systems-when Captain Gibson was aboard during the second combat encounter, I was not able to make full use of either my manueverability, or my electronic warfare suites-I ran them at quarter power, which was enough to 'spook' the Cylons into shutting off their com-nets, the resulting disorder allowed me to get Captain Gibson to safety with lighter than predicted damage."

"So Gibson wasn't aboard during the third battle?" Thornton asked.

"No, Ensign, he was reporting to Captain Lombard at the time. Since I'm built to be combat-effective with up to ninety percent of my systems inoperative, and I have heavier armour and much heavier weapons than either the Leopard CV or the SLS Pheippides, I placed myself between the Cylon, and the other Star League ships and executed an aggressive defense utilizing what I had remaining after three hundered years of combat service, more than 250 of that without periodic maintenance." Nike said, "I was able to blind the Base-Star and confuse her fighters long enough to make use of a Kzinti-Lesson manuever, preserving the maximum number of Human personnel. I was over-ruled when I requested that they get the Phippy out of the area-it turned out that the Cylons don't read much Niven or Pournelle."

"I still can't wrap around the idea that someone...some thing could be better at Electronic Warfare than Cylons." Thornton said skeptically.

"My _Kung Fu_ is superior to theirs." Nike stated rather bluntly, "I'm faster, I've got more experience, better transmitters and recievers, and, I would suspect, a better grasp of it than they do-especially with their relying on Binary machine-languages. I have three centuries of experience just on my own, on top of two hundred MORE years of humans around here playing 'core Wars' games during battle, and that pressure resulting in a kind of intellectual arms-race between star-empires consisting of hundereds or even thousands of worlds. I haven't quite got the knack for hitting their 'humanoid' models yet, but that's to be expected-they're basically clones, and they don't have the same vulnerabilities that their...less human...models have. If I can figure out their 'resurrection' download tech, I'll be able to hurt them from beyond their visual range."

"How do you know you _Haven't_." Lee asked.

"I don't. I suspect I haven't, because...well, because I think if I _Had_ they wouldn't have bothered trying to run 'dark', they'd have just _run away_" she said, "Mental intrusion is _traumatic_, I know, I've done it, and I've felt it being done...if they'd been vulnerable to it the way their base-ships and Raiders are, they would not have tried to press an attack without a much larger back-up than they brought."

"I don't get it-you are faster than the Cylons, you obviously have a...'mind of your own', why didn't you turn on your creators?" Thornton asked bluntly.

Nike let the quiet run for a few seconds before answering, "My creators were killed before the idea really came up, and after that...I just don't like the concept. I didn't like it when Amaris ordered it in 2767, and I don't like it now. I was made for a purpose-a purpose that I _understand_. One that, on a fundamental level, I _agree with_. Turning on that...well, it's a bit like turning on those who look to you for protection, and leaving them to die alone in the darkness, betrayed and at the mercy of those that would kill them. I don't hold to that. I consider that to be....unacceptable. I can hardly condemn others for it if I should ever do it myself. Moral consistency prevents madness, and preventing madness was one of the biggest technical problems in the development of machines of my type."

Commander Lee Adama cocked a skeptical eyebrow-tactfully ignoring the jab at the actions of the _Pegasus_. "Why are you all the way out here, then?" he asked.

"I can't stop the Star League from fighting...the Star League, Commander." Nike stated, "I'm by myself as a type-there are no more of my kind left, and even if there _were_, we wouldn't have the right to interfere." she said, "I came out here, Commander Adama, because I couldn't do a damn thing to stop what was going on inside the Star League, between its members, and they wouldn't have trusted me if I _had_ the ability-and without trust, you don't have a Nation to be proud of, you have a Tyranny that will disintegrate in even MORE pointless killing." She paused, and sadness crept in, "I came out here to find some _piece_ of it, to protect, some little bit that could maybe grow and prosper. I spent a long time looking, that colony-it failed because the League turned in on itself, they were and are still part of the League, but a part at the time, that I could _protect_ until they got back on their feet...then, Captain Gibson showed up, and I found out that I wasn't the last chunk of the Star League trying to hold the line against the darkness."

* * *

**SLS Nike (Caspar TQF-142M5D) - yellow/white Dwarf star system – June 23rd 3046 **

For all of the underlying disquiet and complaints about the nature of the mission, "rescuing a frakking Toaster" was not high on the list of dream jobs for a Colonial warship, Lee Adama was grateful for the opportunity to get his crew out there doing something after an extended period of relative inactivity.

An excessively heavy CAP of three squadrons of Viper Mark VII's and five autocannon-armed Raptors was guarding the two ships now orbiting the planet. The engineers and technicians had figured out a way to secure the caspar to the battlestar but they were taking their time because they didn't want to damage either ship by rushing things. Nike had insisted on doing all the fine manoeuvring herself, both pointing out that _Pegasus_ was undeniably less responsive at the helm thanks to her mass, and less diplomatically that humans could be sloppy at docking procedures, and the Lola III Class Destroyer hull was now positioning itself ready to "set down" as gently as it could on top of the smooth lines of the Mercury Class Battlestar so the work of clamping at securing them together could begin in earnest.

The repairs and refit that had taken _Galactica_ and the _Zughoffer Weir_ out of commission for nearly four months after the victorious class of the allies against the Cylon Fleet had meant that _Pegasus_ had to remain in the New Circe system to stand guard. She also had to be ready for deployment if one of the HPG equipped picket ships ran into another major Cylon Cylon Taskforce that _Yukon_ or the new Titan class light-carriers couldn't handle alone. Despite regular battle-drills the crew had soon begun to get very bored and were increasingly restless for extra shore-leave now that the Colonial City-State was more developed, some even asking to be discharged from the service.

No sooner had the work to _Galactica_ and the SLDF flagship been completed than the orders came for _Pegasus_ and _Bismark_ to undergo the same procedure, swapping some of the point-defence weaponry from the former for eight huge Naval Lasers from the latter. This had taken another two months with "The Beast" in high orbit surrounded by scaffolding unable to even get underway for fleet manoeuvres and the crew were getting rusty as a result whilst Lee Adama began to put on weight.

_Bismark_ herself was still out of commission whilst she had one of the salvaged battlestar FTL's installed as the _Zughoffer Weir_ had before her but _Pegasus_ had now finished working up new armament and both the crew and their Commander were itching for a fight. Hoping to get news of a Cylon Basestar jumping into New Circe controlled space which they could blast their first deployment post-refit was instead a glorified salvage operation but at least they were a few jumps out from New Circe, where the Cylons still dared to tread and they might possibly get to kill something if they were lucky.

In another few weeks once _Bismark_ was back in service _Galactica_ was due for a second spell in the orbital dockyard, this time to have a number of her viper launch-tubes drastically re-worked to carry the new Wolverine-built Avar aerospace fighters due to enter Colonial service. The older battlestar would only carry ten of the machines, _Pegasus_ would get twenty herself eventually according to the plan, but even in those numbers they would add a valuable additional capability to the ships in terms of more heavily armed and armoured fighters that were also considerably faster than vipers, if not as nimble.

Captain Cole Taylor, the Pegasus CAG was itching to get his hands on an Avar, even though he expected the arrogant, prissy Wolvie pilot-instructors would, as ever, treat him like something they stepped in during the familiarisation lessons. He had already done some training in a flight-simulator using a neuro-helmet and although it was a very different way to fly a fighter it wasn't as strange and disorientating an experience as he had first feared, a few hours at the controls and he was confident he could get one of those Avars to dance.

At the controls of one of the vipers on CAP Cole flew a close pass by the AI warship the Thirteenth had constructed. It was a damn mess, armour missing all over the place and there was an engineering crew in EVA suits still trying to haul out the Heavy Raider that was embedded in the side. They had found a dead skinjob inside the thing which probably explained how the Toasters had found the warship, at its rendezvous with the _Pheidippides_. One hopefully long drawn out painful death followed by a quick resurrection would have seen the Eight bringing back the coordinates of where "Nike" had been when it died.

'Green Squadron this is Stinger' Taylor transmitted over the wireless. 'We'll do another fifteen in the saddle then hand over to Blue Squadron, let them get bored out here for a while' he said. 'Thumper's got a hot date planned.'

'_With his right hand maybe_' one of the squadron responded, laughing.

'_No Catbird, with that new chick from engineering that transferred from Monarch that you spent all last Marsday evening trying to get to go out with you_' the pilot Thumper replied.

'_No way?_' Catbird replied disbelievingly.

'No it's true' Taylor confirmed, 'I saw them together at breakfast, they came in together' he said.

'_Breakfast?_' Catbird repeated aghast.

'_The best man won_' Thumper declared triumphantly.

'_She must have been exposed to too much unrefined tylium on that mining ship and it rotted her brain_' Catbird stated.

'You're a sore loser Catbird' Taylor told him.

'_Screw it, I've still got two girls waiting for me back at the City-State anyway_' Catbird declared. '_Why the frak are we way out here in the boonies saving this oversized Toaster anyway_?'

'_Yeah have prices for scrap gone up or something?_' Thumper asked.

'_Word to the wise gentleman, don't badmouth someone over the wireless who has zero trouble breaking your comms encryption_' a female voice interrupted them.

'Who is this on the viper channel?' Taylor demanded to know.

'_I'm the Toaster_' Nike replied. '_Not that I like being called that, be grateful I'm tolerant and understanding... and that I'm out of ammo for my point-defence guns_' she told them.

'_That's the frakking ship's AI?_' Thumper asked in surprise.

'_No, you're suffering a group aural hallucination_' Nike responded sarcastically.

Taylor narrowed his eyes. 'Get off this frequency whatever you are' he ordered.

'_Okay but remember I'm eavesdropping boys_' Nike replied. '_Watch those insults about my appearance, you can hurt a girls feelings you know_' she said wryly.

'_They should pull the plug on that frakking thing_' Catbird declared. '_It could go rogue any second_' he said.

Taylor nodded his agreement with the sentiment but he didn't say it out loud because he didn't want the machine to hear. Lee Adama was an idiot for agreeing to this recovery mission without deactivating the damn AI, then again he had always known the man had only gotten command of the _Pegasus_ because of who his father was, the Colonial Fleet was no place for nepotism.

Commander Adama himself was on the Battlestar's CIC with Gibson as his guest explaining the final details of how they would be securing Nike for transport. It would have been a whole lot easier with a few holograms but although more high-tech than _Galactica_ the Mercury Class ship was still less well endowed with computer hardware than an SLDF vessel. 'Fortunately because so much armour is missing we can anchor straight to the internal structure' Adama told Gibson, showing him a sketch one of the engineering team had drafted.

'And that'll hold?' Gibson asked doubtfully.

'As long as we keep any acceleration or manoeuvring to an absolute minimum, ideally none at all, it should' Lee assured him. His English was getting pretty good he thought to himself proudly, his father could still barely string a few sentences together. 'We can trust your AI not to frak around right?' he asked.

'Well I bet after we get to New Circe and decouple she'll ask if it was good for you but as for being professional in her work I'll say yes' Gibson replied.

'You talk about it like it's a person' Lee noted.

'I was stuck on that ship with only the AI to talk to for weeks on end, we got to know each other very well I think, trust me Nike _is_ a person' Gibson replied. 'The ship has feelings you know, it also enjoys yanking my chain sometimes as well which is fair because I yank hers too.'

Adama suspected the pilot was anthropomorphising badly but let it slide. 'So you really think they'll fix that thing?' he asked.

'Nike kicked ass and took names' Gibson replied, 'she bothered the Cylon's enough that they made a hell of an effort to try and track her down and kill her so anything they want dead we want alive' he said. 'The best idea I can come up with is that they're so used to having the edge over our side in Electronic Warfare that something meaner than they are at it frightens their shiny chrome pants off' he said. 'Nike theorises they might even be superstitious about her, we know they've got religion, some of them even believe in prophecies' Gibson continued, 'maybe there's a Cylon myth about the Anti-Toaster or something' he joked, laughing.

Lee looked confused. 'Anti-Toaster?' he queried.

'Sorry, cultural reference to Christianity' Gibson apologised, 'the story is that one day the Anti-Christ, the spawn of the devil, will appear and herald the end of days, the apocalypse you know' he said.

Adama nodded his partial understanding, it was generally best to avoid talking religion with the Wolvies, they objected to their beliefs being called myths and when he had once made that joke about the irony of a carpenter being executed by being nailed to a block of wood it hadn't gone down very well at all. 'The offer stands for any of your crew to journey back on _Pegasus_' he told Gibson.

'I'll ask them again' Gibson replied, there hadn't been any takers the last time he mentioned it to them but he should pass the offer on. If it had been _Galactica_ most of them would have jumped at the offer but as the sergeant had said, an overworked zero-gee toilet stank less than a disgraced ship.

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Nike was programmed to believe in a lot of the things Wolverines are raised to believe in as well. Some of the things Pegasus was involved in during the Admiral Cain era would not sit well with the AI.  
_


	16. Chapter 16

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Nike**

The 'dock' was _perfect_. As Pegasus crewmen swarmed over her lower extremities, attaching lines and clamps, Nike stopped fooling around with the CAP pilots, and started running low-power scans of the system.

A small discomfort at frame 57 drew her from her star-gazing, and she checked-the area with the discomfort was near a working CCTV imager.

one of the _Peggy's_ crewmen had become ensnared in a mooring rig, and was banging on her hull with a wrench, trying to get _someone's_ attention.

"Sarah, I need you to suit up and do a space walk over to my ventral starboard at frame fifty-seven, it looks like one of the Munchkins got himself bound up in a mooring line, given the way he's banging on my PD sensor there, I'd say he's in trouble." Nike announced.

Sarah opened an eye in her hammock. "So what?" she asked.

"Sarah...first off, you don't know that that crewer wasn't a draftee who was forced to take the job at gun-point to his family, second, you don't know that he was involved in the crimes Cain ordered and her senior people carried out...third, it's regulation, and I hauled quite enough corpses if you _recall_. Get out there, and render aid, you're my senior engineering rate and it's an engineering issue, and finally, that's a _Sensor_ he's banging on. I'd as soon NOT lose a sensor because my senior engineering rate wanted to catch another ten minutes of down-time a full day before we're scheduled to jump." Nike let impatience and irritation slip into her tone.

"Alright...alright..." Sarah got up, and pulled her pressure suit closed one-handed, while reaching over and picking up her helmet with the other, then floated down to the personnel lock headed starboard-through the small-craft bay.

"If you're asked, you tell 'em you heard him." Nike added, "Last thing we need is the discomfort of false gratitude between a Colonial and a...'toaster'."

"I'm going..."

Sarah exited the airlock fully buttoned up.

The 'walk' didn't take long. Indeed, the crewman was bound and pinned, the tensioner was still going....

she managed to kill the power to the tensioning winch before it crushed him.

"Hang on there, spacer, I got ya..." Sarah said calmly, reversing the toggle on the winch, and activating it again.

The cable's tension dropped and dropped, until the man drifted out of the tangle, moving weakly.

Sarah bounded after him, resenting it the whole way out, then using the PLSS in her suit to tow him back to _Nike_'s airlock.

"NIke, contact Pegasus, tell 'em we've got one of their guys, and he's injured, we need a medical team up here post-haste." Sarah announced over the suit radio, adding, "Dorkface here got between a mooring line and the hull, that was a good catch-it would've cut him in half i if we'd delayed another minute."

Sarah didn't wait for a response, instead, she waited for the atmo in the 'lock to be 'human safe' levels, then opened the Munchkin's suit to assess the damage.

By the time the inner door opened, Binkley was waiting with a Corpsman's kit, and she could hear Thornton-the Liason officer, babbling away in Caprican over the radio from the bridge.

The guy was pretty bad off-but still alive enough to be coughing blood.

"Tell them to get the fucking doctor up here right the fuck NOW, damn it." Binkley's voice didn't go up in register, just volume. He sounded completely _focused_ as he evaluated the damage one-handed, and prepped a stint with the other.

"Where'd you learn that?" Sarah asked.

"I hang out with the Marines." Binkley said without looking up, he pushed the sharp end in, and a globule of blood welled out, before the lung started to reinflate.

"Broken rib in his lung." Binkley said, "You HEAR that, Thornton? This guy's got two punctured lungs, get a fucking trauma team in here..." He pressed an Oxy-bulb on the injured man's face, and looked up, "Good catch, Sarah." he said, "Hopefully you got to him in time...this guy's going to need surgery....what kind of dumbshit gets between a mooring line and the hull, anyway?"

"marines...computers...is there anything you _don't_ try to do?" Sarah asked conversationally, as the patient's vitals stabilized.

"I don't try to go UA." Binkley said distractedly, "Check his hat-they should've heard him screaming before his air was cut off, the only reason they wouldn't, is if his radio's ****** up."

"I'll get my testing rig, hopefully their radios aren't that different from ours." she said, and pushed off.

Nike watched the drama in her airlock without comment to Binkley, or Sarah.

"Alan...Alan?" she sent.

Gibson answered. "Yeah, I heard...I"m on my way with the ship's doc." Gibson replied, "ETA just about...thank you."

She opened the bay, the Colonial raptor slid in and set down without a vibration. she was already closing the outer door...

_Peggie's_ crew were fast-she had to give them that. The trauma team kind of blundered for a moment as they exited the fifty-tonne shuttle, but recovered nicely.

"Atmosphere normal" She opened the airlock to the bay.

Binkley was fussing over the injured man and hardly looked up to ask, "New Guy, or just unpopular?"

One of the Pegasus Marines looked at the injured spacer, and said something in Caprican.

"New guy." Nike translated helpfully.

The doc from _Pegasus_ examined the injured man, and spat out a stream of words in Caprican.

Nike understood the meaning...and translated.

"This guy needs to stay in microgravity." She said, "Spinal injury, no way to see if the cord's been damaged, but the vertebrae definitely are."

"What's his name?" Alan asked.

Thornton, who'd been on the bridge came back down, "Midshipman Jason Bocsie, he enlisted about a year ago, he came from _Galactica's_ civilian population, he's on the list for a pilot-training slot."

Binkley looked up, "what the fuck is a Middie doing without a Senior NCO to keep an eye on him??" he demanded.

"I'm not sure, but I'm going to find out." Thornton promised, "The C.O. will NOT be happy about this."

"We're going to have to get this kid to a proper _Star League_ medical facility post-haste." Gibson stated grimly, then he looked over at Sarah. "Corporal, go make sure that rigging line's set and tight, then take a spin around the rest of hte ship and make sure we're ready to go-NIKE, recall all shore-leave personnel, that'd be the Sargeant and most of her Marines, we're going to need to get out of here _Early._..and while you're at it, you, Binkley, Sarah, and everyone else who was on board are going to need to prep statements for the accident investigation..." he looked over at the Doc, "You and your team need to get your reports and shit straight too-If I'm going to be talking to your C. why one of his Middies is in my ship with a fucked up spine and lungs, on field-life-support..."

"Radio's fucked up too." Sarah suddenly said, looking up, "Damn emitter's burned out-this thing is a piece of shit, but it shouldn't be THAT much of a piece of shit."

* * *

**Cylons...**

The darkness faded into bright light, and John coughed, hard, spitting out the fluid of his resurrection bath.

"Welcome back." Simon said, standing near, and offering a robe.

"Thanks...how long was I out?" John asked, "it felt longer than normal."

"several weeks." Simon said, "your last pursuit of that automated ship resulted in a near-disaster, we had to decide what to do about...you."

"I take it the decision came down in my favour." John said wryly, "Why?"

Simon shrugged, and looked over at Doral. "Because it hinged on what you might have learned from the encounter...and because we're in agreement that it was not your fault."

a new voice chimed in, but the others didn't notice it.

"What did you learn?" she was indistinct, like a blur made solid. He could _feel_ the malevolence, the sickness and the madness in her/it..."Did you learn _anything at all_?"

He concentrated on _projection_, and the smooth lines of the resurrection chamber 'hardened' in ways that reality wouldn't let it...and he could _see her_

The woman was short, her skin marked all over with scars, body knotted in muscle. she was not 'beautiful' in the conventional, perfect sense that member of the 12 would be-this was a form shaped to the purpose of doing violence, her 'woman parts' almost vestigal with the shaping.

"She's inside my head..." John muttered.

"Very good, it's also good you didn't say that with your _outside_ voice." the stranger said, "They already think you may be defective." she added.

"What...what do you want?" John asked, feeling somewhat afraid.

"We have a dance to complete, you and I." she touched him with her....he realized they were claws, of iron, and the hair...

snakes.

"Gather your strength, lover, and we shall dance anew." she told him, "We'll see what you have learned then."

She blurred out.

John was among the others, "We need a different kind of ship to fight that thing, and we should have it before they decide to make another one." He said. The raspy touch of those iron claws made his skin crawl in revulsion.

* * *

**SLS Nike...second jump.**

"...getting pretty rank in here, Captain." Nike said, "Ketones are building up in the air-filters. You _find_ somebody and _assign_ them to liason on the Peggy, or you're not going to have a crew, so much as a can full of sick people."

"They don't want to go, Nike, it's only a little while longer..." Alan Gibson argued.

"YOU are their _Commanding Officer_, Alan. We've got limited Life Support and my carbon-scrubbers are going tits-up fast, we've got a critical case in our improvised sick-bay, and he's NOT one of the people who committed the atrocities, so he's an innocent bystander. if you can't find a volunteer, you _order_ someone down there. WE need to reduce life-support load by five people right now. You need to order five people to go sleep in one gravity on sheets with blankets and eat food that isn't reconstituted biomass bars....Military Necessity, someone has to go walk among the barbarians or nobody is going to get HOME in good shape."

Alan glared at the unblinking eye of Nike's trid-feeds. "I thought you understood..."

"I do understand, Alan. I also understand that _mission comes above all_, you have a fundamental responsibility to the safety and welfare of your crew-even when neither you, nor they, like what you have to do to carry that duty out...and I don't like it either-but _that is the job._"

* * *

**Battlestar Pegasus – Fourth Jump – 58 Light Years from New Circe**

The engineering crew were unhappy with how secure the moorings between _Nike_ and _Pegasus_ were holding up and had requested an extension in the planned pause between jumps while they inspected them. Since nobody wanted to risk that much mass shifting suddenly while the two ships were in contact, and they wanted to find out even less what might happen if it occurred during a jump, Lee Adama had authorised a halt in their journey.

The injured Midshipman had stabilised and was considered in no immediate danger of expiring if they delayed a few more hours so rather than risk transferring him to a Raptor to get him back to New Circe faster he remained safely cushioned by microgravity on the Caspar while his colleagues inspected the links and cables, including the one that had nearly bisected him.

Gibson had been surprised it had taken this long before there was trouble on the battlestar even if he had ordered the people he transferred to _Pegasus_ to just stay out of everyone's way over there, keep their entirely justified opinions to themselves and not get into any unpleasantness. _Nike_ hadn't perhaps fully grasped the inevitable consequences of having Wolverines on the Beast but at least the SLDF Marines had restrained themselves and only caused superficial injuries to the Colonial's when fists started flying.

The _Pegasus_ crew knew that they were basically despised by the Wolvies, this had of course led to a collective dislike of the native New Circers on their part. The atmosphere when they were in close proximity was thick enough to be cut with a vibro-bayonet but usually violence was prevented from breaking out by the fact that the SLDF people looked too damn mean to start a fight with just because they looked at you like you were a lower form of life. However with only a handful of the Wolverines in a sea of Colonials a few troublemakers decided to take the opportunity to mess with the arrogant, genetically-engineered freaks.

Sergeant Devin had tried to keep her people in line, and not get provoked herself, but when verbal abuse in the corridor turned into pushing and shoving she eventually pushed back upon which occasion the four SLDF Marines found themselves in a brawl with around twice that number of Colonials, also mostly Marines themselves. Rather stronger, faster and tougher than the _Pegasus_ people Devin and the three other Wolverines with her were making a good account of themselves when the fight was broken up by the ships Master-At-Arms who turned a fire-extinguisher on them all after his orders to cut it out or else were ignored.

It was all clearly too explosive a situation to allow to continue to fester but Commander Lee Adama had an idea, one which his father would have approved of since he often spoke fondly of the old military tradition himself. If these idiots wanted to fight each other they could do it in the damn ring instead of cluttering up the hallways he decided and ordered the boxing ring to be set up in the ships gymnasium.

There was no way in hell that Alan Gibson and those of his people who had previously remained on _Nike_ were going to miss this so as Adama stood in the ring, loudly explaining the rules in both Caprican and English people threw their dogtags into a bucket indicating they wanted in, he was stood in Sergeant Devin's corner while she pulled on boxing gloves. 'If you lose to that Munchkin you'll never live it down Sergeant' he told her.

'Yes Sir, I know it Sir' Devin responded before popping in her mouthguard and standing up.

Boxing with gloves on was known to date back at least as far as Minoan Crete, it was a feature of the Olympic games a hundred and eighty years before Rome, then just a small town on the Tiber, became a Republic, so it wasn't perhaps a drastic surprise that the apparent descendents of Ancient Greeks had the sport themselves.

The crowd was baying for blood, it was almost like being in a Circle of Equals Gibson decided as the Sergeant approached her opponent, an unusually large and muscular Colonial who was as tall as she was and bulkier. Adama told them the rules, they touched gloves, then he stepped clear and the fight began.

The big Munchkin was pretty good, Gibson thought as Devin started hitting him with a few jabs to soften him up, using her speed to full advantage. 'Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee' Binkley called out causing Gibson to turn to the man who was carrying the towel for Devin. 'I heard it on an old film' Binkley explained sheepishly as the Sergeant kept delivering left jabs.

The two combatants soon stopped dancing around each other and they were soon exchanging vicious body-blows. A punch f got through Devin's guard and bloodied her nose causing the Colonial to look pleased with himself for a moment before he realised that the Wolverine was grinning behind her mouthguard.

'Damn she looks fine' Binkley declared as Devin took the offensive launching into a combination of punches to the head and gut which sent the Pegasus crewman reeling due to the speed and ferocity.  
'Is that why you hang with the marines?' Sarah the engineer asked him loudly, Binkley blushing in response. The marine sergeant was nearly a head taller than the technician and although more athletic in build rather than having the powerlifter physique of male SLDF Marines and Infantry she was still carrying a lot more muscle than he was.

The fight lasted until nearly the end of the second round when Devin floored the Colonial with an untelegraphed uppercut that went in under his guard, the cheers from the eight other Wolverines present drowned out by the boos and catcalls from the Beast's crew.

'Okay who's up next?' Adama asked.

Before one of the other Wolverine Marines could speak up to Gibson's surprise Sarah started stripping off her jacket down to her t-shirt. 'Sorry but I just spotted someone that needs a good beating' she said. 'This is the closest we're going to get to a Trial of Grievance right?' she asked Gibson, climbing into the ring as Devin climbed out. 'Battle Challenge issued' she declared, 'I want _him_' she announced, pointing into the crowd at a man in maybe his mid to late thirties wearing engineer's coveralls.

'What gives?' Binkley asked, passing Devin the towel which she used to mop up some blood as her marines clapped her on the back.

'That's the guy who was in charge of the Midshipman who nearly got killed' Gibson explained, taking a closer look.

'Oh right, Sarah said she thought he got off light for nearly letting one of his people get killed by sending a rookie out alone and unsupervised' Binkley responded. 'Guess it offended her engineers sensibilities or something' he reasoned.

With some cajoling from the crowd the challenged Colonial entered the ring and strapped on the gloves as Sarah did. 'When was the last time you did any decent unarmed combat training?' Gibson asked her, 'and the annual refresher course doesn't count' he said.

'Back when I was drafted' Sarah replied, she had done her two years conscripted service before moving onto the Regulars like everyone else.

'Please tell me you were Infantry at least?' Gibson asked hopefully, the majority of conscripts served as ground-pounders.

'Combat engineers, they saw how good I was with a wrench and asked me if I wanted to stay in uniform' Sarah replied. 'I know how to throw a punch Sir, don't worry' she told him.

The second fight was a lot sloppier than the first, neither of the engineers were nearly as good at fighting as the two marines who had been in the ring beforehand but Sarah was quicker and once she got into her stride she darted in and out chipping at her opponent. A few good blows to the gut left her gasping on occasion, but she recovered fast and as they entered the fourth round it became apparent that superior stamina was going to win this for her. The _Pegasus_ engineer was running out of gas fast and she wasn't. 'Why doesn't she finish him?' Binkley asked.

'She wants to hurt him some more first' Sergeant Devin explained, dried blood now visible under her nose.

Sarah finally put him down with a hard punch to the midriff followed by a right cross with everything she had behind it, feeling vindicated she trotted back to her corner and performed a high-five with Devin. 'Wolverine girls kick ass' she declared. 'My ribs hurt like a bitch' she complained quietly as she climbed out of the ring.

Pegasus Crewman Specialist Gage had been watching, he knew who he wanted to fight, bring the frakkers down a peg, he decided getting up and indicating he wanted to go next. 'I want him' he declared, pointing at Binkley.

Binkley looked shocked. 'Aw shit' he responded as Gibson threw him a quizzical look. 'You're not going to order me into the ring are you Sir?' he asked, 'Honour of the Clan and all that?'

'No' Gibson replied, 'I've seen your physicals and I wouldn't _want_ to see your unarmed combat evaluations' he added.

'I'll go in again' Devin offered.

Binkley gritted his teeth hoping they weren't going to get knocked out, even if they were a lot more crooked than might be expected of someone born on New Circe. 'Like hell you will' he growled, starting to take off his olive brown SLDF jacket. I must be out of my mind, he thought to himself as he got into the ring, well at least I've had plenty of experience getting beaten up he decided, sizing up his opponent. 'Not much bigger than me really' he said quietly, looking Gage up and down.

Sarah leaned over to whisper in Gibson's ear. 'Are you sure about this Sir?' she asked him.

'Getting knocked about a little won't kill him even if he'll take longer to heal than you will' Gibson replied, he was proud of the kid although he wished that someone had forced him to pump a little more iron.

Gage won the fight pretty easily in the end although Binkley did manage to split his lip and took more punishment before going down than Gibson had expected. As he got up after being counted out Binkley stumbled out of the ring, 'not _too_ bad for genetic garbage I hope' he said to Gibson before he started coughing. There was a cut above his left eye and he was wearing a lot of bruises.

'I'm going to have to teach you how to fight' Devin told Binkley.

'He didn't back down in a fight he didn't think he could win' Gibson stated, 'that's good enough for me' he said.

'Wolverine trait' Binkley said wryly, spitting blood into a bucket.

'You still might want to take the Sergeant up on her offer though, it'll hurt less next time' Sarah advised.

'Next time my ass' Binkley replied.

The Pegasus crew were hollering up a storm after Gage's victory. Gibson looked around and smiled. 'Right, so let's see who wants a piece of the _ranking_ gene-spiced son-of-a-bitch' he declared, stripping his jacket.

Cole Taylor the Pegasus CAG watched the Wolverine pilot enter the ring. 'He doesn't look all that' he said, getting up from his chair to whoops of applause from the other pilots.

Gibson wasn't as strong or tough as an SLDF Marine but Taylor perhaps should have considered how fast your reaction times had to be to qualify to sit in the cockpit of a New Circe aerospace fighter. Fast like a freak didn't even begin to describe it as Gibson set about enthusiastically pummelling the _Pegasus_ CAG whilst avoiding far more blows than he was delivering.

Soon enraged, Taylor lost his cool and eventually his respect for the rules delivering a low blow that bent Gibson double and had every male present grimace. It was generally agreed that when Gibson recovered and broke Taylor's jaw it was just desserts, although Gibson himself heartily wished he hadn't busted his right hand doing it.

* * *

**_Note from the Author:_**

_It's the closest thing to a Trial of Grievance in a Circe of Equals available ;-)_


	17. Chapter 17

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Spacewalk Inspection, Nike/Pegasus...**

The scary part, Sarah realized, was that these people were probably the best Spacers the Colonials had before the attack. "Nike, external illumination, visible spectrum, Starboard Aft at Frame 285, Ventral."

"_Lights are out in that section._" Nike told her, "_One of the thousands of little things that need replacement._"

Sarah panned her helmet-lights, and one of the Marines brought a spotlight over.

Her bruises felt _good_, but they WERE inconvenient. "I need a Torch, and half a tonne of number-seven structural angle, two patch-plates, two rod-feeds, and...about six hours." Sarah said, "Ventral fin's breaking loose with the torque right next to a pretty good size I'm-guessing missile impact. I'm going to splint it at the structural members-they can un-do it at the yard...and get a crew of those Peggy spacers out here to re-rig their damn mooring lines, ******'s sake Finagle save us from shoddy work..."

Sarah's family had a lot more in common with Binkley's than with the Marines-and the old Belter curse against misfortune just felt..._Appropriate._

_*** * ***_

**Binkley**

"You _Know._ Binkley, if she catches you just staring at her, she's going to think you're a creep." Binkley was lying down on one of the bunks on _Pegasus_ set aside for the visiting SLDF personnel. He twisted to see who was talking-the voice wasn't familiar...yet it was.

"Guy must've hit me harder than I thought." He mumbled.

There was a girl, sitting on the floor...and he could see right _through her_.

"You left the VR visor on." the girl said, "Dozed off with an entertainment VR going. Shit rots your brain." the girl said, and looked up, meeting his eyes.

Her eyes were the colour of smouldering embers, set in black pits. "WHo-?" he mumbled.

"Guess, genius, who'd hack a cheap entertainment deck using the wireless signal?" the girl asked, standing up.

"Nike." he said.

"Wow, got it in one." she answered, "I'm trying on faces. How's this one?"

"Well, let's see...you look like a twelve-year-old, possessed by a demon." He told her bluntly, "Why the little-girl face?"

"Half the entertainment in broadcast history had a young, female protagonist in a sailor-motif school uniform, or major character." She replied.

"Try older...and more military-looking." Binkley told her, "Otherwise everyone's going to think I'm a perv."

"YOU?" she asked.

"Yeah-who else in the next forty light years do they know who can program full motion video in their spare time?" Binkley said, "I reallly don't need THAT added to my less-than stellar reputation with the ladies."

The face and body shifted, growing taller, and acquiring a mane of brown/red hair. "How's this?" she asked.

"better...a lot better." he said, "What's with the little badge with the Psi emblem on it?" he asked, "and the Gloves?"

"Oh, a little joke-I spent a few months listening in to television waves from the late twentieth century-there was this show, about a space-station..." she said, "...and they had these people with mental powers called the 'Psi-Corps', people who can hack brains the way I hack AIs."

Binkley laughed, "So...that's how you see yourself?" he asked.

"I see myself as what I am-a Warship, but, as Ensign Thornton, Sargeant Devin, Sarah, and a few others aboard have pointed out, it can be disconcerting to talk to someone without being able to read their body-language and expressions...still, I think using a Psi-Cop uniform might be really appropriate for interviewing purposes."

"Better make that a standard SLDF uniform-the added badge I think you might get away with, but the black-on-black-with-black just...doesn't fit with the service." Binkley told her, "But you should ask Alan when you get the chance-he's got better social skills than I do, and he _is_ your C.O. now."

*** * ***

**Bridge Area, SLS Nike, 1 Jump remaining to New Circe...**

"...now what is it you're so fired up to show me?" Alan Gibson asked. Binkley grinned, the rest of the crew were assembled today, including the Pegasus Liason officer Ensign Thornton.

"Observe the holo mounted to the console." Binkley said.

"So what about it? you put that in three weeks ago." Alan commented, "If I recall, so that we'd have a tridee display during operations...though you've mainly been using it to play _Duel of the Furies III_."

"Nike?" Binkley said.

What appeared on the holo was about twelve inches tall, and female.

"Everyone keeps saying they find it hard to read my expressions." Nike said, the figure moved as she spoke, making gestures and showing body-language.

"Well... a red-head." Sarah commented, "I always figured you more for a brunette." she snarked, "Or a blonde."

"Older than I'd pictured." Devin, the Marine NCO, added, "I figured you'd go for a schoolgirl outfit.." she added, looking straight at Binkley.

"Binkley didn't pick that one-he said it was too...um..yeah, Perv." Nike stated. "I pulled the look from a twentieth century entertainment programme I picked up after a short jump through the Free Worlds League."

"That explains the non-standard uniform...you're missing a piece." Alan said, and pointed at his wrist.

"Oops...forgot about that..." a tri-colour cord appeared around the image's wrist..."Okay, I didn't 'forget', I _omitted_ it-the real one's still on the trunkline, after all."

"don't 'omit' it at New Circe, Nike-as it is, I'm not sure they're really all that trusting of my report." Gibson stated, "Not to mention your being...what you are, I'm pretty sure someone's going to start parsing definitions and arguing the status."

"I can cave their teeth in." Devin said bluntly, "if it comes to that, anyway."

"What's with the black-on-black eyes?" Thornton asked, "The other details are so..precise, you could do human-looking eyes pretty easily." He was a tiny bit uneasy.

"Not Human, shouldn't try to look TOO human. that's what Skinjob Toasters do." Nike replied, deliberately using Colonial Slang, "Among other things, I really _do not_ want to be mistaken for some human-wanna-be that nukes planets and obsesses over a fictional god." She smiled, "_I_ am a _warship_, a _defender_ of humans, this is just to make my job easier by making it easier for humans to communicate with me...so, how does it _Look_?" she struck a pose, "am I pretty enough?"

*** * ***

**Cylons**

Cavil frowned, and said, "We need something else-something more like a _Battlestar_ and less like a _Base-Star_. That ship penetrates networks faster than _we do_." He waved a hand, pushing the designs aside. "If they start outfitting MORE of their ships with whatever they're using, and those refitted ships remain _loyal_ to them in spite of their slavery, we can expect them to come after us...sooner or later."

"What are you thinking?" Doral asked.

"Heavy armour, certainly-heavier than we're using _now_. Bigger manuever drives-I don't know where they're getting enough Tylium for that wreck to move that fast, or how they're getting so much energy out of it, but we need to match it somehow-either finding a different fuel mix that gives more energy output, or just flat bigger, lighter-weight for their output engines. That thing's thrust was _Phenomenal_ for its size."

"And?" Simon asked, "Don't they use Fusion engines anyway?"

Cavil looked at Simon, "How advanced was that fusion power-plant in the base? would YOU try to power a star-ship with it?"

Simon frowned. "No. The mass is too high for that kind of outpu-" and his expression shifted, "OH. NO...You don't think?"

Cavil looked at him, "I'm starting to. WE have assumed they are using some kind of fusion rocketry-and knowing THAT it works, we should be able to make it work, right..?" He spread his hands, "Have we? do we _have any idea_ how this theoretical fusion engine would work??"

"It sliced your base-star in half with one of those 'fusion rockets', the drone-ship did, I mean." Boomer said, "I'd say that it's pretty much settled-Tylium Exhaust doesn't _do that_."

Cavil nodded, and raised a finger, "BUT...we can't build one-none of our research has figured out _how_ they're fusing simple hydrogen into helium, and getting that kind of power output...so we have to work with what we KNOW works-_Our_ Star-League Killer ship has to use Tylium...at least, until we can get ahold of a working 'star league' engine, and figure out HOW THEY ARE DOING THAT."

"We need bigger weapons-bigger, faster missiles-no, scratch that. mass making turns...we need some kind of direct-fire weapon with higher velocities than a standard ship's mass-driver, firing a powerful payload...and more of them...and we need to up-gun the Raiders and develop a new kind of Heavy raider that can take more punishment." He frowned. "In the interim, we need to have something that doesn't rely on a Hybrid, something non-networked. That ship's first move in every encounter was to hit us with a network-attack. As long as we have to interlink fighters and base-star, we end up having communications channels open straight into the Hybrid, and after that, coordination goes straight to hell. I tried NOT running a network twice, and the raiders under-peformed horribly."

"You're talking about reinstating the 0005's, aren't you?" Caprica asked.

"We're going to have to. The old model Centurions _and_ the old model base-stars, and _maybe_ old model raiders...scratch that, almost _certainly_ old model raiders. Voice communication instead of data transfer, visible instruments instead of relying on direct interconnections, and an 'isolate' Hybrid if we _must_ have one...and we're going to have to increase the armouring on the raiders, AND the base-star at minimum. Something like the advanced plate used on the Battlestars..." he suddenly smiled, "you know, we _have_ the facilities for it- frak, we have _battlestars_ we can strip for it..."

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Cylons thinking outside the... box :-p_


	18. Chapter 18

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**MS Quan Tri, Fedcom Registry 13243L(M), "Surveyor" class Jump-ship, (that's a ship class dating to the late 23rd century), 100 days out of Filtvelt...**

"...Giao, come inside, the core's charged." Mai Pham called over the radio. She was the 'captain', though her husband's family owned the ship.

They were 100 days out of Filtvelt and following on a lead that could be 'the big strike'-the find of a lifetime, an intact Star League era warship rumoured to be out past the edge of the known periphery. So far, the way-markers had proven correct-solid leads. The capper, would be finding a warship that could be traded to the Federated Commonwealth Navy-a find worth _billions_, enough money...

"Denh, is our daughter inside the airlock now?" Mai asked.

"Yes, honey, you've got the navicomp coordinates checked?" Denh PHam, age forty-seven, The 'nominal' owner of Pham Enterprises of Kowloon, replied.

"Did you finish your project, Giao?" Denh asked, as the inner door of the personnel lock cycled open.

"Yes Father." Giao said, "I finished _this part_ of it. Will you compare my version to the ship's charts?"

"Yes, I believe I will... did you finish your calculations?" He asked.

She handed over a pocket-comp, displaying the KF calculations she'd made. He compared them to the ones generated by the computer. Astonishingly, they were _correct_. "Well, Father?" Giao asked.

"In three years, when we get back, and I submit your grades, you might just get into Pandora with these scores, Giao." He said proudly, "Go show your mother."

She bounce-flipped up the spinal corridor to the command bridge. "Mom! Mom!!! I did it _right!_ I know where we are, where we are going, and how to get there!"

Mai took a moment to look, more critical of her eleven-year-old daughter's numbers than Denh, and she nodded her approval. "Good work, you did this without help?"

"I did it like you _told me to_." Giao said, and passed over the paper logbook from her suit. The rows of calculations were neat, the handwriting small.

"Good girl. Go get your brother secured, we're jumping in-"

"Five minutes. Yes Mother." Giao said.

She went down to the day-room. Tranh wasn't ready. "Come on you big baby." Giao said, helping her older brother, crippled with a defective brain, to his jump-berth. "If you hold still, I'll read you a story from the _blue_ book." Giao promised.

The nineteen year old looked at her with wet eyes, and whimpered. "I don' want to go. something bad gonna happen..."

*** * ***

**BSG 62, Battlestar Pegasus, 21 July, 3046...New Circe**

"Secure from Jump." Lee Adama ordered.

The trip back had everyone on edge. Seeing two other Warships waiting for them-and their strapped on cargo, was not the relief that Lee had hoped it would be.

The wireless crackled, "Pegasus, this is Fleet Actual, as soon as you've dropped your load, I've got another mission for you. Over."

"What's the mission?" Lee asked.

"A courier will hand those orders to you at the dock. Shore leaves for Pegasus crew are cancelled." The Admiral on the other end stated flatly, "Sorry about that, Commander. This one's important, and it's time critical. Release your load, and take a Raptor over, we can't risk this on an open channel."

Lee flinched slightly at the bare use of his rank-it meant the orders would NOT be pleasant. "Acknowledged Fleet, Pegasus Out."

He turned, "Okay, you heard the man, get that...electronic monster off my ship. I'll take Raptor 14 over to see what these new orders are..."

*** * *  
**

**SLS Nike...**

Alan Gibson looked at the ships waiting for them. Nike had tactical plots on both of the old Warships, along with highlighted tracking of their targeting systems on display. "Nike, don't do that." he said, "These are _friendly_ ships."

the highlighting disappeared.

"Sorry Ala-I mean, Apologies Captain, reflex action, I won't let it happen again." she said, while running a three hundered simulation series on what, if anything, she _would_ do if his assurances weren't as solid as he believed.

"Mooring lines are clear, they're un-doing the clamps now." Nike informed him.

"It's going to be good to be home..." Sarah said.

"Speak for yourself." Binkley replied, "I get to spend the next six months on the Orbital, with occasional trips down to the ground-base."

"No passes?" Sarah asked.

"No passes. Confined to Base or Duty Station." Binkley told her.

"I'll have a couple for you when I hit the clubs, then." Sarah told him.

"You do that." Binkley replied.

Devin poked her head into the passenger compartment-this close to home, she and her marines were back aboard _nike_ full-time. "Hey guys." she seemed a little down.

"What's up?" Sarah asked.

"Change of orders, I'm reassigned to _Project Spook_, up on the Yard." She said, holding up her orders-sheet, "I'll be working security during the...I guess it's a refit."

"Sorry to hear that." Sarah said, fingering her own orders, "I guess after my seventy-two hour pass, We'll be seeing a LOT of each other." she added.

"I thought you got a berth on the Zug?" Binkley asked.

"Nope." Sarah said, "Though it WAS a good fantasy, wasn't it?" she added with a slight grin.

Binkley looked at her, "Sarah, I saw the orders...two weeks ago."

"Orders change. I volunteered." she clarified, "I decided I could either be a shift-chief for someone else, working in middle management, or I could take the ChEng job on my own boat, the ChEng job is more prestigious, especially on a boat as...complex as this one."

"They offered you a _Commission?_" Binkley asked.

"Yeah...you'll be officially working for _me_." Sarah said with a sadistic grin.

Devin laughed. "You _volunteered_? Sarah, you _Hated_ being assigned here-even temporarily..."

"My Boat, Sarge." Sarah said, "Well...actually Alan's, but as Chief Engineer she's mine in all but name."

"Could be a short assignment." Keith, one of the Aerospace pilots, chimed in.

"So what..?" Sarah countered, "It'll go on my permanent Record, Chief Engineer of a Destroyer... what a way to pump the Resume..."

Devin kicked in, "Officer, no set time limit on your term of service." she said, "Resume might not mean as much, since they can keep you in as long as they want."

Binkley shrugged, remaining silent for a while.

He'd left his assignment folded and the seal undisturbed. _find out soon enough._ the thought didn't bother him...much. Losing peers to Officer Country _did._

Nike knew what their orders were, and who'd volunteered, and who'd been volun-told... she had, after all, decoded the signal, and run the off-prints when Alan recieved the orders for his people.

She followed the Wolverine escorts into the repair dock, rode the automated ILS signal, and, with carefully controlled thruster bursts, put the personnel lock directly in line with the docking gate.

The umbilical extended, and the sensors on the frame of the airlocks both registered a hard docking seal.

At this point, she stood down all weapons systems, and put the drive engines into cooldown mode prior to shutdown.

She had arrived.

"Mister Thornton, I assume you're going to ride Commander Adama's raptor back to the _Pegasus_?" she asked.

"Looks like it." the Colonial said calmly.

"It's probably going to be a relief to be back with your...crew." Nike said.

"It will be." Thornton agreed.

"Then, you probably don't want to open that envelope until you're safely on the space-dock. It's considered bad luck to open them early." she said.

He looked at the envelope, frowned, and peeled it open.

The stream of Colonial cursing could be heard throughout the pressure deck.

"YOU KNEW." he accused the walls.

"I de-crypted it, transferred it to paper, but I did NOT translate it." Nike said primly, "Though I could have. Promotion?"

"Reassignment." he glared balefully at...the environment around him.

"I'm sure you can get that changed after your leave period." Nike said, using soothing tones.

"I'm sure as hell going to TRY." he replied.

"I thought you and Sarah were getting along...this week." Nike pointed out.

"NO. She's civil to me-that's it." he answered.

"Maybe with the reassignment, you can...win her over." Nike answered.

"you really didn't read it?" he asked.

"Not Cleared for it, Ensign." Nike told him. "You're not assigned to ME as a ship, you're assigned to the _program_, that might mean that your Hardship duty's over with-they may let you stay here, and spend time in the City-State with your son a little more frequently than you would with proper _ship_ duty."

"You _did_ read it." he accused.

"Well...yeah. My Central Processor is descended from supercomputer projects intended to de-crypt _any_ cipher or language. I had to decrypt some of it to scan for viruses, other parts were just...curiosity." she told him, "Everything will work out _fine_. Shore-Liason's supposed to be pretty easy duty, and it's not like there's a lot of me that you folks don't know about anyway-most of the add-ons I expect to get are your tech, so it's reasonable to assume they'd want someone who can deal with me without...serious difficulties-which is going to be rather challenging in and of itself."

"I'm still going to try and get my assignment changed..." he told her.

"I'd expect nothing less from a proper son of Cyrannus." Nike told him, "you don't like AI, you're uncomfortable dealing with me, but you put on a good show....and that's actually going to help your career later, Ensign Thornton-being able to handle discomfort and deal with what's in front of you are traits that, in most professional navies, are well regarded. YOUR professionalism during this mission has been exceptional...airlock opening."

The hatches opened, and the first people through weren't very interested in niceties- a Medical Team, with escorts.

"Midshipman Bocsie is over here..." Thornton led them over to where Bocsie's frame was anchored, linked to a field-medical life-support rig. He'd been kept unconscious during the bulk of the trip, in order to manage the horrific pain he would have otherwise been experiencing as a result not only of his injuries, but also of the 'healing' process.

Alan made it down to the bay. One of the SLDF security troops belatedly said, "Permission, Sir?"

"Obviously granted." Alan replied, "take good care of the kid-it wasn't his fault."

They rushed the young man off to fleet medical.

"Looks like we're still working together for a while." Thornton commented.

"Looks that way." Alan replied, "I expect they're going to want to debrief you-both our guys, and yours."

"Inevitably." Thornton agreed.

"You'll get a chance to see your kid." Alan added.

"Had a lot of that while we were in refit." Thornton replied, "So...figure Binkley's going to open his?"

"Nope." Alan said, "But I figure on being there when he does-I want to see the _look_ on his face."

"Think it's going to be worth hanging around for?" Thornton asked.

"Probably. What's _really_ going to be funny, is watching him buy his uniforms." Alan commented, "AND seeing him try to adapt his habits....he's going to be _terrified_."

"His old C.O. know about this?" Thornton asked.

The rest of the crew filed off, Alan waited until Binkley himself was halfway down the umbilical.

"Lombard put him in for it, I just submitted his efficiency reports while I had him." Alan said, "He's still going to have to make Restitution, mind you, and they won't let him resign until his term's up...except the once, and that locks him in until the _Service_ is good and done with him...but I think a choice between Prison, and a Commission he'll make the right one. see, the conditions of his sentence are that if the Navy dumps him, he's off to lockdown for the next twenty years at hard labour...now, if he's dropped for the purposes of accepting a Commission, then he doesn't go-because the Navy still owns his skinny ass. It just means that instead of getting out in ten, he gets out when WE are done with him."

"Fiendish." Thornton said.

"It's the law, what can you do?" Alan said with a shrug, "Binkley was going to be a Lifer anyway-it's in him, he just didn't know it as soon as the rest of us did."

"What's his official title?" the Colonial asked.

"Electronic Warfare Officer." Alan said, "probably going to give him the S-1 job too. He's good with the tactical plotting and he's a good encryption/decryption man-basically his job is to keep Nike's 'special' systems in order and her mind on the job."

"I don't have problems focusing on the JOB, Captain." Nike huffed.

"Depends, you're about to meet the full force of SLDF Beaurocracy head-on, Nike. If you fail, they're going to strip your processors out and put a crew on your hull." He threatened.

"They _wouldn't_." Nike argued.

"Not if you mind your manners." Thornton contributed, "And cooperate fully with all their tests and questions. I'm sure Dr. Baltar's probably prepared a few thousand himself...to test your stability, loyalty, etcetera, make sure you _aren't_ A cylon in Star League clothes."

"I'll be _nice_." Nike replied.

"You do that, I'm going to go get a drink." Alan said, "The scotch ran out a month ago."

"yeah, it's been _nicer_ not having to ask Sarah to scrub out the vomit from the filters." Nike replied smugly.

"Her vomit." Alan said, stepping out the airlock, leaving the Port's guardforce to 'watch' Nike.

"So...how many times DID you have Honeypot duty?" Thornton asked.

"I didn't. People screwed up, screwed off...my name never reached top-of-the list." Alan confided.

"Bastard." Thornton said, "Even _I_ had it once!"

"Yeah, your turn came up." Alan said with a shrug and a grin, "Dump the Peggy-Patch, and I'll take you to this place I know...wonderful girls there..."

*** * ***

**Something Bad Happening.**

MS Quan Tri Fedcom Registry 13243L(M) has a crew of twenty-two, the docked dropship _Chao Li_ (a Manatee reconfigured for cargo) has another five.

a pair of old, formerly pirate-owned _Vulcan_ aerospace fighters taken by Denh Pham's Father during the last major Piracy crisis (called the Fourth Succession War) to hit the Kowloon system, and the paired Medium Lasers installed as anti-meteor/debris defenses, are the only protection (other than armour) the _Surveyor_ class (a predecessor of the more modern and up-to-date _Scout_ class) has.

There were as many _alien_ space-craft outside as there were crew _inside_ the MS Quan-Tri.

"I think they noticed us. How much longer on that hot-charge?" Mai Pham asked.

Denh called up from the drive-controller room, "Not even close, we're seven hours and forty minutes shy."

"All Hands, All hands, prepare to repel boarders, gunners to your stations, Vu, Luong, get down to the fighter bays, see how much time you can buy." Mai barked orders.

other ships would look at the array of alien fighters, and broadcast surrender signals, hoping for mercy.

Kowloonese don't surrender.

"What about the _manuever_ drives? can we use _those_?" Mai asked.

"Not without stopping the hot-charge and hoping the sail holds out." Denh replied.

"Do it. I want to be able to _move_...Giao, come here honey...come to the bridge." Mai called out.

Giao unstrapped and bounce-bounced up to the bridge section.

Her mother pressed a vibroblade in her hand. "You know what to do if we're boarded." she said.

Giao nodded. She knew.

Mai reached down under the command seat, and gave her daughter something else. "Be careful with this, it has a recoil-impulse." she said, handing her little girl a 9.8mm pistol.

Gaio looked at the handgun-it was huge to her. "Nine point eight milimeters, fifteen round magazine, two point nine kilograms backward thrust with standard frangible rounds." she recited, "Three kilogrammes reverse thrust with nine point eight milimeter vest-and-suit piercers...mom, which is it?" she asked.

"Piercers AND Frangible, dont' miss-if you do, we can probably patch the hole if it's not too big or in a crtical system." Mai told her.

"We're going to be boarded." Giao felt a small shiver of fear.

"use it only as a last resort. Now, go _hide_." Mai told her.

"What about Tranh?" Giao asked.

"Tranh's nineteen." Mai told her.

"He's Soft-Head." Giao insisted.

"Tranh will do his duty." Mai assured her, "Now, _Hide_."

The Aliens began their attack.

*** * ***

**BSG-62, Pegasus, Nine days' jumping out of New Circe, approximately 1340LY from Terra...**

"...not a damn _salvage ship_, sir." Mr. Hoshi muttered, "How did we get this shit detail anyway?"

Lee Adama looked up, "Biggest Colonial jump-drive in the fleet, integral defense capability, Vipers, and we're going into what amounts to Enemy territory, Mister Hoshi. We're stealing back something before the Toasters find it."

"Recon Raptor's back..." Hoshi said.

"_Pegasus, this is Raptor Fourteen, there's a civilian ship at the coordinates of that old Prison Planet, she's under attack by Cylons, and she's squawking to break the bands, over._"

Lee's eyes widened for a moment, and he looked at 'his' crew-the crew that the Wolverines thought too dishonoured for 'real' duty...

_Civilian ship._

The decision was that simple. "Battle Stations, people, we're going in to help." He said, "The Wreck can wait."

He looked around the CIC, "Get moving." He said, and picked up the comms, "Raptor Fourteen, this is Pegasus Actual, get back in there and prepare to provide support, Pegasus is riding to the Rescue. Over."

The stunned looks vanished, and the crew seemed to go from langour, to wild activity.

"Let's hope they can hold out." Lee commented.

"Jump drives' spun up, coordinates from Fourteen on the board." Hoshi recited.

"Ready..." Lee shoved his key in, as his XO did the same.

"Jump."

_Discontinuity_

_*** * ***_

**Bad Things Happening...**

_Cargo Two..._

The Aliens were...robots.

Anna Cu'ong saw the first of the _things_ come through a hole in the wall, and she _froze._

_it's a robot...a robot...a robot..._ The robot was clearly using mags to clamp to the deck. The needlers would be useless.

It levelled its lower arms, and cut Joe Ellefsen in half with a stream of bullets.

Grenades, on the other hand...

She twisted the cap on a Fedcom Mk16 charge, as another one stomped in.

_Please...please..._ she tossed it, adhesive-end on, at the first one.

It looked up, swinging one arm to bat the grenade away-and the grenade stuck to it.

The Fedcom Mk 16 is designed to adhere to 'mech armour-a very non-ferrous metallic substance.

the robots fired at the structure she was behind.

The robot reached over to remove the soup-can shaped explosive

Anna dove back, and closed the visor on her pressure-suit, as the charge went off.

The detonation tore open the hull in a ragged gash, and the shock hammered her, making the world gray as the pressure doors between the cargo hold and the rest of the ship slammed shut.

More of the robots were coming...

First one, then more started to climb into the gash.

She unlatched a hull-cutter, and waited...

Tracer rounds from something...bigger...suddenly lit the ruined compartment, and robots were torn apart...

_Station-Keeping drive section..._

The station-keeping drives are the best protected section of a jump-ship. The children, therefore, were put in there.

"Dao, that's silly-there's no such thing as aliens." Giao Pham said.

Dao Cu'ong was twelve, and while she didn't get Giao's phenomenal scores, she wasn't stupid, either. "I'm telling you, those things aren't human ships out there. They don't even have cockpits."

"Could be Blackwasps?" Giao pointed out, "Or maybe some kind of experimental probes?"

The ship vibrated, and pressure alarms went off.

The girls grabbed their helmets, and Giao checked Thanh's helmet to make sure he'd remembered to seal it.

"It's not normal pirates, Giao." the older girl said, "And there's a _lot_ of them."

"Your Mom and Dad are great fighters, Dao, they'll drive 'em off and we'll be fine..."

"Why did your mom give you the _gun_ then, Giao?" Dao asked, "Why am I sitting here with a Laser rifle?"

"Stop it. Everything is going to be _fine._" Giao insisted.

The hatch suddenly _bulged_ against its frame.

"You were saying?" Dao commented acidly.

The girls ducked against mag-coil housings, as the hatch was.._torn_ open by something from the other side.

"Who had the corridor?" Dao asked.

"Mister Nghien." Dao said, and poweed up the Mauser.

What came through wasn't suited men-they were _like_ men, chrome plated armoured artist's models, claw-ended fingers and arm-mounted guns and no space for a person inside.

Dao Cu'ong, age thirteen, pissed herself and her fingers found their own path-the M&G 960 laid down a pattern of pulse-laser fire across the passageway, through the wrecked hatch...

"Okay, I was Wrong!!" Giao shouted, and began taking aimed shots as the chrome-plated _things stormed into the weapons-fire..._

_*** * ***_

**Bad Things Happening to _Someone Else..._**

_Flash-discontinuity_

Lee could see it displayed on visual. The Base-star wasn't yet on top of the civilian ship, but there was a mob of Raiders, and two Heavy raiders were already in place...

He felt the bottom of his gut drop- _too late!_

then one of the Heavy Raiders was _blown_ off the side of the ship-tearing a gash in it, and destroying the Cylon transport.

"Laser fire from the civilians-they're still making a fight of it." Hoshi reported.

"Launch Vipers, Marine boarding teams." Lee ordered, "Secure that ship. Conn, take us between that Base-star and the freighter. WEapons, as soon as we're in range, you are free to engage any valid target."

"Hell of a lot of effort for one little freighter." someone muttered.

"Stow that attitude, Mister Donalson." Lee said, adding "Sometimes you just have to roll a hard six."

"Target acquired with Laser bays, Commander, can I fire?" Hoshi asked.

Lee looked over at him, remembering the enhanced range he now had available. "Smoke that toaster." he ordered. "Smoke him up GOOD... Blue and Red squadrons, peel off those Raiders and their cargo, blow a hole for the Marines, and CAP that jumper-I don't want _anything_ but friendlies within a thousand kilometers of that civilian vessel."

"_Sir, I'm detecting fusion exhausts...two...well, they're smaller than Kirghiz, but they move as badly. ONe's in pretty rough shape._" Blue Lead said over wireless.

"Cover 'em." Lee said, "Try to make contact on wireless..."

The Cylons chose to break off the engagement and run as the Battlestar closed the gap, leaving a few Centurions on the crippled civilian vessel, a lot of wreckage behind, and whatever they'd been after.

"I've got a wireless." Dualla said.

"It's in English, right?" Lee asked.

"No sir." she frowned, "I'm pretty sure it's a language, but I can't make first guess as to what they're saying."

Lee looked at his XO, "Go see if the Wolverine technical team knows what that is."

*** * *  
**  
**MS Quan-Tri...**

Ensign Horthy jumped from his Raptor, to the side of the stricken ship, and entered through the rip in the ships' cargo bay-after his team's Raptor had cleared the six Centurions that had been trying to enter.

Yellow lighting flashed and strobed in the bay, making it look like some kind of unearthly inferno.

Among the dead Toasters, he found his first Crewman.

She'd died, eyes frosted over inside her helmet, blood frozen on the outside of her suit.

She had an _axe_ in a death-grip, the blade buried in the torso of a Centurion.

The Cylon had been clawing her guts when the axe found _something_ important in it.

"Zeus..." he muttered, "ares..."

It took a minute to override the door controls and enter the interior airlock.

"Fan out, there are probably toasters, and might be survivors." he ordered.

Pegasus Marines with magnetic boots fanned out, searching in the flickering ship's lights.

A Toaster lay, blown in half by _something_, near the shredded body of a suited crewman. Another was sprawled on the deck-it was hard to see what had taken the Toaster _out_, until he bumped it with his foot.

a feeble spark, and the toaster was obviously solidly welded to the decking, a line running from under it, to the 'ceiling'.

"Ingenious.."

"_Sir, I've found someone!_" he smiled "Good work, Carthy, is it an officer?"

"_Frak, I don't know, he's speaking some kind of Gobbeldygook at me, and waving a pistol._" Carthy replied.

"Don't approach him, then!" Horthy said, and switched frequencies, "Pegasus, this is Boarding Two, we need a Translator over here-we can't make frak-all heads or tails of what the crew, the signs...anything. Over."

_"Boarding Two, this is Pegasus, we're working on that. It's not a dialect of **English**... see if one of the natives you find can speak something we can translate, Over."_

He sighed heavily, "I'm going to look for the bridge, maybe there's something _there_..."

Twenty minutes later (and a dozen course-changes) and the Marines reached what was, apparently, the bridge.

There were multiple Toasters dead, and five bodies inside.

One of the bodies was still breathing, and moving.

Horthy looked at Corporal Senn, the strike-team's 'nerd'.

"I'll try..." Senn said, and mustered it up... in the best English he could, he said, "We Come In Peace To make help for you." He read the words straight off the english/Caprican dictionary.

The moving body, and now Horthy could see it was a _she_, looked up at them, and at Senn, and the book, and started laughing a wheezing, gasping, coughing laugh.

"Welcome aboard the MS Quan-Tri...I think we need that help." she said, and passed out. '

"Medic!" Horthy pointed at the woman, "Make sure she lives, I think she's the only person on this wreck we can frakking HOPE to communicate with!"

*** * ***

**Engineering section, MS Quan-Tri...**

Cassius heard the firing right before his team would have turned the corner.

There were two Centurions covering at the door and firing in, someone inside was firing _out._

he motioned his team to halt, and hand-signalled Brubaker to do a 'float' across to the other side of the intersection, then, he dialed up the magnification on his Carbine's scope.

The Cylons didn't notice them-they were 'target fixated' on whoever was inside that engineering bay.

He lined up his crosshairs as Brubaker did the same.

_a gentle squeeeeeze..._

The Colonials shot at nearly the same time-exactly at the junction between the Centurions' head, and their torso, with AP bullets.

The machines went limp, the recoil from their last shot-bursts flopping their bodies for a couple seconds.

The shooters in the engine-bay let off a couple more shots, then went silent.

_"Careful, they're not locals, we're still trying to dope out what language they're speaking."_ came over the radio.

"You're frakking kidding, right?" Cassius asked.

"_Negative. You can TRY english, maybe it'll work...so far, we've found ONE person who can understand or speak it...and she's in critical condition and going medevac to the sick bay post-haste._"

"Eris, this just gets better and better." Cassius said.

*** * *  
**  
**Giao and Dao...**

Someone shot both the Robots at the same time. Giao looked at her friend.

Dao wasn't in good shape.

"Dao, are you still here?" Giao asked.

Dao opened her eyes, "Yeah...I'm here... we should take a look. something took those robots out, maybe dad's coming... or mom."

"Dao, we're supposed to stay HERE, and with Thanh dead..." Giao said, trying to avoid looking at the shredded body of her mentally-handicapped older brother as it tumbled and bumped in the air-currents.

"..need to find out what's happenin'..." Dao pushed up, and away.

"DAO!! NO!!" Giao bounded after her friend.

"whats the matter, no sense of adventure?" Dao asked.

she dragged the heavy pulse-laser one-handed, and floated to the door...

*** * *  
**  
**Hallway, same time...**

Cassius could hear a soft argument going on. _Kids?_ the first thought at the tones...

"Đạo, chúng tôi đang nghĩ để ở ĐÂY, và với Thanh chết ..."

sounded maybe older?

".. cần phải tìm hiểu những gì đang xảy ra ..."

There was a shifting and a clink, and the voices were getting closer.

"Careful, guys, they don't know who we are, and we can't tell 'em, try to look...friendly?"

"ĐẠO!! Không!"!

she sounded upset.  
The first one to become visible looked...she looked like if you stood that rifle against her in a gravity well, it would knock her tiny, underage ass over from mass alone.  
It _looked_ like the weapons the SLDF issued infantry-but _older_, shop-worn...

"vấn đề là gì, không có cảm giác phiêu lưu?"

The girl holding it had a Tournequet on her leg- which is a reasonable thing to do, when your leg ends in shredded meat at the knee.

She was still dripping blood, slowly.

The other girl bounded out behind, and she looked unhurt, but worried.

He took a chance, slung his rifle, raised his hands as the girls both saw him, and said, as loudly as he could (reading from the dictionary)

"Do You Speak English??"

* * *

**Pegasus...**

"...need a _Linguist_, you're supposed to be one." Lee Adama was impatient with Dr. Maalmoff.

"Let me hear it then..I assume you've got a sample?" she asked.

Lee nodded to Dee, "Put it on speakers."

"Đạo, chúng tôi đang nghĩ để ở ĐÂY, và với Thanh chết ..."

At first, the Wolverine looked a touch confused.

".. cần phải tìm hiểu những gì đang xảy ra ..."

Her forehead got this dimply shape..."The language family is asian...definitely...not japanese, though."

"ĐẠO!! Không!"!

"What are they arguing about?" Lee asked.  
"Give me a second...it's _familiar..._" she reached down, pulled out her pocket-comp...

"vấn đề là gì, không có cảm giác phiêu lưu?"

and went pale.

"Oh, jesus..." she said, "Tell your marines to look around, see if there are any symbols set up with a gold background and red..lettering or highlights."

"You know who it is?" Lee asked, "are they hostile?"

"THEY can be-could be, maybe not though, it's an AWFUL long trip out here for them..."

"What 'Them'? Are my men in danger?" Lee enunciated, impatiently.

Dr. Maalmo looked over at him, "no." she shook her head, "no, I don't think so... but it's a damn strange coincidence for Kowloonese to be out this direction-the language is Vietnamese, there are only two places Vietnamese is spoken-Earth, and Kowloon-and most of the native speakers of it are from Kowloon."

"Then I need you on the Wireless, to talk to the survivors, Doctor." Lee said, "Their ship's frakked up and so far, we haven't seen ANYBODY without serious injuries...AND that Base-star isn't going to stay 'spooked off' for long-he'll come back with friends, we would be advised to not _be here_ when that happens."

Dr. Maalmo muttered something under her breath.

"What was that?" Lee asked.

"I was praying that they remember the one seventy first better than Dinh Diep, or they MAY become a problem." she said.

*** * ***

**Pegasus , 2300 Hours...**

As it turned out, the younger girls both spoke English...at least, adequately.

The CMO of Pegasus was working on the one named "Dao's" leg, while the apparent Commanding Officer of the ship lay in the Intensive Care trauma ward, recovering slowly from multiple gun-shots.

The total of survivors from the ill-fated ship were four adults, and two children, out of twenty-seven people.

They'd made good accounting, though-more than a dozen Centurions met their end in the slaughter.

A review of the jump-ship's condition, using type-guides from the Wolverines, showed it was, effectively, dead to the point of unsalvageable-the fighting had destroyed the ships' fragile jump-sails, cracked the jump-drive's core, savaged life-support, and damaged the jump-ship's main powerplant.

the type read off as one that was obselete by the middle of the 24th century-there were no parts in the inventory to fix it, and other than the pair of medium lasers, nothing on board that would work for any current vessel in either the Wolverine, or Colonial, fleets.

The pair of _vulcan_ fighters, once landed on the Raptor Pads and brought in, provided the deck crews with a nice distraction, however, and other than armour and minor systems damage, they were functional enough.

'Captain' Cu'ong was awake in ICU.

Lee finished reading off the damage, and Captain Mai Cu'ong listened.

Maalmo kept looking at the Kowloonese ship-owner's arm, a barely covered tattoo...

"What are you staring at?" Mai asked, conversationally.

"your arm." Maalmo said. "Why that pattern?"

"None of your business." Mai said bluntly, "Not until I know _who_ I'm talking to, you aren't Taurians, and you aren't Cappellan-Cappies wouldn't have been looking for an English..dictionary."

"I don't have to...look for a dictionary. Why are you wearing the Regimental Crest of the One Hundered Seventy First Volunteer Regiment?" she enunciated.

Mai's face was stone. "None of your business, maybe I liked the design in the tat shop."

"We are not the enemy." Maalmo insisted.

Mai pointed at Adama, "HE isn't the enemy. I'm not sure about YOU." Her English lilted a bit, "You Comstar? Pirate? little Rim-worlds Leftover? Loki? LIC? what are you?"

Dr. Maalmo straightened up, "Star League."

"Oh...great... we found the _bạn tình_ Deserters...unless you were left behind too when Kerensky looted the place and left because nobody would make him king?"

* * *

**_Note from the Author:_**

_The people of Kowloon feature in another of Cannonshop's stories. I've asked him about putting his other stories up on but for now you'll have to track them down on the Classic Battletech Forums and the Battletechunits forum._


	19. Chapter 19

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Wardroom, Pegasus...**

"So, you want to tell me about that confrontation in there, Doctor?" Lee asked.

Dr. Maalmo sighed, "It is...it's a long story, do we have time for one of those right now?" she asked.

"Humour me." the Commanding officer of _Pegasus_ urged, "If we're interrupted, we can try again later."

Commander Adama had added a table and chairs, highlighting the differences between himself, and the late Admiral, he gestured to a chair.

Maalmo sat down. "You've got stubborn people in the Colonies, right? People who won't adapt, or integrate?"

Lee nodded, "We've got a few-Saggitarions, Gemenese..."

the Doctor nodded, "Yeah, make that worse by a thousand times. Kowloon was settled by separatists and people fleeing ethnic oppression. Mostly Vietnamese and former Israelis, a few North American separatists who opposed the formation of the Terran Alliance world government, Mormons from Utah..a mix of people who did not want to be part of what was being hailed as 'the Great Civilization'."

"Terran Alliance?" Lee asked.

"The predecessor to the Terran Hegemony." Maalmo said, "You could call it the first attempt at unifying the human race as they then knew it...some of the compromises made people angry, some of them caused serious hardships-the Terran Alliance's decision to give Israel to the Palestinians and Vietnam over to administration from Beijing's government, for instance."

"The point is, they wanted out?" Lee urged.

"Hang on... okay, so you have these unhappy people, some of them are accusing the member governments of abuses...the Germanium discovery in the Negev desert, for instance, and how the Arabic governments chose to exploit it...That, and the Asia Authority's decision to bring an end to the 'Hmong' problem, freeing up mining in the Central Highlands of Vietnam." she sighed, "..AND how the Terran Government decided to ignore the abuses."

"I take it the departure wasn't...hailed as a great thing on Earth?" Lee asked.

Maalmo chuckled, "They stole four colony ships-not hijacking, mind you-the thefts were right out of the Luna Yard, and the 'help' they got from members of the TSA who were sympathetic covered it for almost a year _after_ the ships left. The help came from the then-new Terran Belter community."

"Belters?" Lee asked.

"People who spend their lives, from birth onward, in space." Maalmo clarified, "Never a big community, but they're technically proficient and still make good spacer crew-back to my story..." she sighed, and the Commander poured her a cup of hot tea. "That was in the first wave of off-Earth interstellar colonisation. They decided to point their ships out, away from the general thrust of colonization, and go as far as they possibly could away from the most popular destinations, which is why Kowloon's on the other side of the Lyran Commonwealth, while the East Asian consortiums settled on THIS side of the Inner Sphere, mostly concentrating in what would become the Cappellan Confederation."

"They wanted to be left alone." Lee observed.

Maalmo nodded. "That they did-and for about a century and a half, they _were_. Then, the Rim Worlds Republic formed, and the Lyran Commonwealth, and here's this little, independent rock right in between them-the natives are hostile to outsiders, have technical capability, but haven't 'grown' their world past its original star system. They were also a couple of generations behind the neighbours technologically-they were still using Fission piles for power plants, for instance, and they 'missed' the invention of Battlemechs. The Rim Worlds got Terran Hegemony help 'bringing them in' during the early stages of the Reunification War. The story goes that about as soon as the fires died down, they were rebelling, and _That_ went on for two hundered and thirty eight years-sometimes open and violent, most of the time kind of...passive-aggressive, depending on how brutal the current governor was. The pattern changed a bit in 2729."

"What happened in 2729?" Lee asked.

"Dinh Diep. Dinh Diep was the first city on Kowloon, it was their...their 'founding city' or Capital during independence, and the city the Rim Worlds tried to administer them from during its tenure. I suspect there's still low level radioactive residue in the Dinh Diep valley." she sighed. "At the time, the Rim Worlds Republic was a loyal vassal state of the Star League-I'm not sure how to put that political relationship in terms that fit readily in your perspective...but the relationship meant that the Lords of the Rim Worlds could call on aid from the Lord of the Terran Hegemony-who happened to be the First Lord of the Star League, if they got in trouble. In August of 2729, the Kowloonese rebelled violently, and destroyed most of the Rim Worlds forces on-planet using Guerilla tactics, and it was suspected, with the help of the Free Worlds League as a means to occupy and destabilize the Lyrans and the Rim Worlds. A Royal Division was nearby, conducting joint exercises with Lyran and Rim Worlds troops on Arluna."

"This doesn't sound good." Lee said.

"It wasn't good. Their orders were specifically to put the rebellion down and restore order. The 336th Royal Battlemech Division, and their transport vessel the _SLS Belleau Wood_ were dispatched to Kowloon. From mid August of 2729 to mid September of that same year, they fought an insurgency that _knew and exploited_ every aspect of SLDF doctrine. The natives ran rings around General Chivington's men, and casualties were getting high...he was ordered to complete the mission, and rules of engagement were modified by First Lord's order. House Amaris was afraid some of the other minor worlds were agitating, and if the rebellion on Kowloon wasn't put down quickly..."

"and they were loyal vassals to House Cameron." Lee said, feeling sickness rising.

"They were. Chivington managed to find out where the Rebel Leadership were holed up, it was a fortified area south of the city's main power-plant...which was a plutonium breeder reactor. There was some concern that if the Kowloonese began using the Plutonium...so he called for fire-support when they managed to stonewall his thrust to seize the alleged command bunker. The gunners on the Belleau Wood _missed the target_ and hit the power-plant instead, releasing radioactive fallout in what is termed, technically, a 'Super-Tchernobyl' event. Three million civilians died as a direct result... it _did_ serve to put the Rebellion back-they lost most of their commanders when the city was destroyed. Without the leaders, the rest of the rebellion died down,and the 336th could leave the system in '32, in Rim-Worlds hands."

Lee was horrified, "Zeus. _they blew up the city?_" he said, aghast.

"It gets worse." Maalmo said, "Though we can't substantiate, there were allegations after the Kowloonese managed to get independent again in 2769-allegations of rim-worlds forces running extermination camps, forced-labour, and other atrocities. They wouldn't let SLDF investigators look into it..."

"and who would _Blame them_?" Lee Adama said, wide-eyed.

Maalmo nodded, "Who would? General McEvedy didn't-at least, in his war journal. He didn't even see much wrong with what they did to Rim Worlds officials when their 2769 uprising was successful-he only worried about what they might do once Amaris was defeated."

"once Amaris was 'defeated', I take it this is where you are going to explain the 171st to me?" Lee asked.

Maalmo nodded. "Kowloon overthrew the Rim Worlds governor's forces in January of 2769, the mob hunted down and killed every official, and many of the officials' families in a three month blood-soaked riot. When the 331st Royal Battlemech Regiment was sent to drive the Rim Worlds Regulars off Kowloon, they found the Regulars had already been butchered almost to a man. The Kowloonese provisional government refused to allow them to land at first, going so far as to demonstrate that they had control of the antishipping defenses. General McEvedy, the Father of Sarah McEvedy, managed to get a meeting with the native leadership-the SLDF at the time had the same overall interest in fighting the Rim Worlders that the Kowloonese did...so they made a deal. In exchange for SLDF access to the system as a staging base against the rest of the Rim Worlds, the SLDF would help the Kowloonese fight their former oppressors, and would not attempt to force them 'back into the fold'. Everyone in the high command at the time felt that it was a risky move, but it would prevent them from trying to back-stab the SLDF, and it would give Kerensky a few more willing troops."

"I take it the deal had more to do with how much they hated the Rim Worlds, than any feeling of kinship to the Star League." Lee observed.

"Exactly. The 171st Volunteers never grew bigger than a reinforced regiment-they rarely dropped below that, but the pace of operations meant that they never got to full Divison size-and that was intentional." Maalmo said, "A division would have been something of a threat once the fighting against the Usurper was over..hard to control, you could say-there were a LOT of Kowloonese who wanted to kill what they called 'Rimjobs' when speaking english-replacements weren't an issue as long as transport could bring them in."

"I take it they fought some bloody campaigns, if that's important enough to make note of." Lee observed.

"Elbar, Rigil Kentaurus, Dieron, New Earth...yeah, bloody campaigns. Especially Elbar, and Elbar's the important one..." she paused, "Good tea, by the way... Elbar... House Amaris, with the assistance of collaborators in Elbar's government, exterminated fifty two million Ethnic jews, gypsies, and slavics on Elbar-systematically, deliberately, through forced labour and 'selective eugenics' projects... the 171st was the first SLDF unit to make landfall on Elbar, they were acting as advanced recon, but Elbar was intended to be Feint to draw Rim Worlds forces away from Towne and New Dallas, opening a hole for Federated Suns volunteer units to assist in liberating Rigil Kentaurus...instead, Elbar turned into one of the bloodiest campaigns of the war. The 171st went _insane_ when they discovered what was going on. Instead of just scouting and harassing, they launched and carried out full-scale assaults on Rim Worlds and Militia emplacements and installations. The 331st Royals were the second unit to arrive, along with the 7th Defenders of Andurien, and the 200th Star League Infantry regiment. The 171st experienced three hundered percent casualty rates there-and inflicted ten to one on Rim Worlds and Collaborator government forces. After Elbar, they became kind of a...dirty tricks department? send them in with the 331st when someone looked like they were going to rout. Line-stiffeners, shock troops. During the late stages, they were used a lot where more..conventionally trained and motivated troops were proving ineffective, and where orbital bombardment was simply not an option-drop the 'loonie infantry in, and follow up with 'Mechs and Armour units after they'd penetrated and been killing shit for a while."

"You make them sound like badasses." Adama observed.

"Back then? they _were_, at least a little bit... after Terra was Liberated and Kerensky had consolidated control over the Hegemony, the volunteers turned in their SLDF issued equipment, and went home...much to the relief of some of the General Staff, there were...incidents post-war." Maalmo said, "Minor ones at first, but at the time, it was thought that sending them back to Kowloon would avoid un-pleasantness...and they _wanted_ to go home, so it was an easy decision."

"I take it none of them joined your Exodus?" Lee asked.

"None..." she passed him a translated image of a document. "Their C.O. responded to Kerensky's invitation with a fairly nasty condemnation, but nothing compared to what he said to General McEvedy about the _idea_ of taking the Regular Army out of the Inner Sphere."

Lee read the translation, then re-read it...

"This sounds an awful lot like the scuttlebutt from your people about Pegasus." he said.

"Ironically, it does, doesn't it?" Maalmo said, "I can't be too angry with Captain Pham's words, but they _do_ sting a bit."

*** * ***

**Mess Deck 2, Battlestar Pegasus...**

The young survivor was accompanied by a Marine Sargeant everywhere-partly to keep her out of trouble-an unaccompanied child running loose on a Battlestar in combat conditions isn't exactly the best plan, and Giao's age and size stirred up..._feelings_ in some of the crew.

In a sad way, Giao Pham reminded too many of the crew of _Pegasus_ of a dark chapter in the ship's history...

For others, of course, she brought back a feeling of being on _Galactica_-good times.

"What's that?" Giao asked, pointing at a confection, "It looks...weird."

"Cake..with frosting." Sargeant Senn told her, "I'm surprised you've never seen it."

"I've read about it. People on planets eat it and get fat." she said.

This gave him a mild surprise. "How many planets have you been on?" he asked.

"I'm not old enough to go downside." Giao said, "Mom says I'll have to when I get into the Pandora Academy. Dao's been on a planet, though-she got to go dirtside with her dad at Filtvelt. She says it smelled funny, and there's no roof, and the people there are crazy-they don't secure _anything_ and they leave their helmets too far out of reach..." she pointed at the cake, the Steward looked at Sgt. Senn, who nodded.

"Planets don't have blow-outs." Senn told her.

"well...yeah, I guess that WOULD make people sloppy." Giao said, cradling her helmet in her left arm. The girl, so far over the last few days, had refused to be separated from either her suit, or her helmet, by any distance greater than a meter, had expressed amazement at the use of so much water in the showers, and Senn noticed that anything she picked up and intended to hold onto for long, got clipped with a lanyard-the way a shipyard worker in zero-gee ties all of his personal gear down. She also nearly had a fit when someone left a pressure-door open without closing it, and sometimes he caught her double-checking to make sure the hatch was dogged and seals were good.

and, thankfully, she got tired quickly moving around in one full gravity-the combined weight of wearing the emergency suit and just not being used to one Gee tired her out and made watching her fairly easy.

*** * ***

**Pegasus...**

Decisions had to be made, and six people can't run even a very small jump-ship, much less provide the depot/yard level repairs needed to get the _Quan Tri_ moving under its own power...

Captain Pham was conscious and lucid today. "Professor, how many of my people died over there?" she asked.

Maalmo looked at her, "Twenty one." she said, "You _had_ survivors at all-no mean feat agianst Centurions when you aren't armed to take them on, but not enough-"

"Not enough to crew the ship, not enough to even make repairs." Mai filled in for her, "And that's assuming I had six people who were fully able bodied, and not three adults and one pre-teen sitting in ICU with major injuries."

"We can't afford to let the Cylons reverse-engineer that ship." Maalmo said, "You understand that, right?"

Mai nodded, "Yeah. The Doctors already filled me in-with broken english, but the imagery was clear enough-what these 'cylons' are, and what they'll do if they get ahold of good charts of human worlds, samples of laser and fusion engine technology, and a grasp of how OUR jump-drives differ from theirs..." she licked her lips, "Leaves a question of how we're going to get _home_, and how I'm going to be able to pay off the debts my late husband racked up for this job, but no question what has to be done with _Quan Tri_... You need to blow it up, and make sure there aren't any parts big enough for the Cylons to reverse engineer anything useful from...there should be ample explosives on-board in Hold three, and aboard the dropship. Do you need a diagram of where to place the charges for maximum effect?"

Maalmo translated for Lee Adama. He relaxed visibly. _One argument avoided..._

"How is Giao doing? has she found work to do?" Mai asked.

"Excuse me?" Lee understood the question-at least, the wording of it.

"Have you found work for Giao to do?" Mai clarified, "She's bright, but she needs to be kept busy doing something useful, or she'll start thinking nobody trusts her. it was hard enough when her sister died four years ago."

Maalmo caught something that the Commander didn't in the question... "What is she qualified to do?" the Professor asked.

"Giao's qualified for most life-support maintenance tasks, light repair duty, she's good at figuring out malfunctions..." the list went on from there. "...if she were eighteen, she could probably test into the Bosun's union at any star-port in the Lyran Com-I mean, Federated Commonwealth." Mai said it with undisguised pride, adding, "Dao Cu'ong could do it too-if she's set up with a good suit, and decent tools."

Lee mulled this over for a minute, "Sgt. Senn reported that Giao has...some issues." He said.

"She was seven, and her brother made a mistake that caused a blow-out in the burrow. She spent a week in a beach-ball in the same chamber with her twin's body..it took us a week to get home from the Oort Cloud with a load of processed ore. Since then, she's had a very...functional...grasp of safety procedures." Mai said, "I'd put her in counseling, but with our lifestyle, her problem isn't a problem, it's an advantage that will keep her alive."

"It's true, then, she's _never_ been to a planet?" Lee asked.

"That part's true. Alan Cu'ong offered to take her with when he took the dropper down on Filtvelt for a resupply. She refused to go-she's afraid of being stranded at the bottom of the Well."

"The Well?" Maalmo asked.

"Gravity well." Mai said, "Planetside. THAT one we were going to put her into counseling for-she can't go into the Service without going planetside, and she can't take over the family business without going down planetside."

"Anything you need brought over before we blow the ship?" Lee asked.

Mai nodded, and reached for a pocket-comp that wasn't there, "I've got an inventory on my PADD, along with locations, you could have Giao show you where, but...I'm afraid she might try to prevent you from blowing the ship-by running away and playing hide-and-seek. Can Dao move?"

"Not under one gee." the CMO commented from three meters away.

"Dao follows orders better than my daughter does, I'll send her to help your teams pick up the gear and the trade-goods. After that stuff is secured here, you can blow the ship...by the way, this is the most..interesting grav-deck I think I've ever been on, almost no sense of motion at all..."

*** * ***

**Cylons...**

Six watched the Colonial Battlestar hang over the wrecked human civilian ship, and wondered agian how long it would be before they blew the wreck and moved on... it was only an idle wondering, at least for now.

She turned to Eight, "any luck decoding that last encryption?" she asked.

Eight shook her head. "Fantastically complicated...we should show this to Leoben." she said, "That courier must have been carrying some _very_ special data to encrypt it this heavily."

"We might bring Leoben in on this...as long as we can trust him not to speak with Cavil until we've got results." Six said.

"The data's not corrupted...much." Eight mentioned.

"that's good, it's too late to try for a captive to interrogate at this point, and I'd as soon leave the Colonials fat-dumb-and-happy." Six confided.

A voice track was revealed...

and understanding dawned on Eight's face. "THAT is why." she said.

"What? I missed it..." Six walked over. "What did I miss?"

"It is not a _code_ or _encryption_ at all... it's a _Language._" Eight announced, "One utterly un-like anything we have record of-you know what this means?"

Six thought about it for a second...then two, then... "It means these humans are _not_ from the Thirteenth tribe." She said, "It means there are _other_ humans, humans that did not originate on Kobol..."

"It means we have a lever to work out what's on these files." Eight said practically, "They probably have a dictionary or translation programme in there somewhere, and barring that, we can always start matching sound-to-video and work up a basic vocabulary from those."

"and _that_ means a chance to unlock the navigation data, and find out where these humans come from...where this 'star League' is." Six said.

"Yup." Eight replied, "It does...and it gives us some chance of working out what we're likely to be facing ahead of time, instead of blundering into the next unpleasant surprise like the Ones have had us doing for the last year or so."

Six frowned, and looked around the base-star.

"Do we tell _leoben_?" she asked.

"The Twos? yeah, why not, they'll get a kick out of this." Eight said, "besides, they might figure something out we haven't... and possibly _can't_ about this stuff, using that weird thinking-around-corners they do."

"We keep it from the Ones, though." Six insisted, "What Cavil doesn't know..."

"he can't use to drive us into another stupid situation. Right." Eight agreed, "It's good that the Ones aren't in-system right now, how do we keep it from the Simons?"

Six shrugged, "Tell 'em we think it's just a code, see if he can break it..."

"They're going back over." Eight said, pointing at the screen.

"We'll give them another half-hour, that should be plenty of time to set the wreck to blow up, then pop a squadron of raiders in to spook them." Six said, "So far, they haven't found the beacon on their hull, if we play this close..."

"so far." Eight reminded her, "THAT part of the plan probably won't last long."

Six nodded. "I know... but now we've got at least TWO angles to approach the problem." she said, "and if they don't find it for a while, we get free information to plan our next operation...even if that operation is trying to just _talk to them._"

Eight shrugged, "I've got MY project... it's kind of devious, holding back until that ship was 'rescued', then sticking around shadowed from DRADIS."

Six sighed. "The Ones would NEVER agree to that..." she said, agreeing with the Eight, "We need to change our approach, we're losing too many and too many are having to cycle through Resurrection-we need a better plan than 'chase them down and attack frontally'."

*** * ***

**SLDF Shipyard New Circe, Slip 2...**

"...VIP's coming, people." Alan Gibson walked on the temporary decking, feeling his steps have _weight_. "NIke?"

"I'm aware of 'em Alan. Binkley's sleeping in quarters, I think he came home drunk last night, and I seem to recall you and a couple of your aviator friends had something to do with that." she said reproachfully.

"It was a few drinks-to celebrate his promotion, Nike...see? I'm _Fine._" Alan said defensively.

"Captain, your capillary reaction, body temperature, and the whiff of alcohol by-products beg to differ." Nike told him, "but compared to Mister Binkley, you _are_, indeed, in better shape."

"It isn't _My_ fault Binkley's a lightweight." Alan Gibson insisted, keying the override on quarters four.

"You _should_ have taken into account his small mass and lack of experience in carousing, Sir." Nike said.

"It Builds _Character_." Alan said puckishly, "Up and at 'em, Mister Binkley!"

"mmmgblibltz!"

_One cold shower and three hot cups of coffee later..._

Drummers were having a competition in Binkley's head-using the barrier layer of his brain for a kettle drum. Chief Devin and Sarah would occasionally look at him-he noticed it in the base mess-deck, and later when they were back aboard _Nike_.

Sarah and Devin would look at him, exchange knowing glances, then giggle and move on.

"What did I do last night?" Binkley asked Karl, one of the Pilots at his 'promotion party.'

Karl shrugged, "Can't say." he said, "I was in the punchbowl...must'a been funny, though."

"'Kay, you know, and...you're not telling." Binkley interpreted, "I hope to god it wasn't _too_ bad."

"Worse is funnier." Karl advised, "You prob'ly should take some comfort in that."

*** * ***

**Pegasus...**

The offloading of supplies from Quan_Tri took six Raptors half an hour. Most of the 'supplies' gathered consisted of tool-chests. The Last Raptor out carried personal belongings, including nearly a tonne of books, many of them written in english, and some of them dating, (according to Dao Cu'ong) from the twentieth Century.

The books belonged to the crew, but according to Dao, most of them were purchased by her late parents.

The last thing Dao brought over was a trunk-like object with a pair of scrolls.

"Mister Weisner will want this." she said, referring to one of the Quan-Tri's pilots, who was unconscious in the Peggy's medical bay.

"What is it?" Sgt. Senn asked.

"The Torah, and in the bottom compartment, a copy of the Catholic bible. Mister Weisner was a jew, but his wife was Catholic...it's just too bad I couldn't find her rosary." Dao replied.

"You're going to be all right when we hit gravity again?" Senn's english was MUCH better-all that time spent around the girls, and around the Wolverine people, was improving his grasp of it by leaps and bounds.

"I'll be in the same condition I was when your guys carried me out to the Raptor." she said simply, "I didn't tear any stitches..."

there was an awkward silence, and Senn picked up, "what's a 'Catholic'?" he asked.

Dao frowned. "You know how most of the SLDF people are what they call 'lutheran' Christians?" she answered, "Well, a Catholic is like being a Lutheran, but with a guilt complex and more rules."

"We have a lot of gods." Senn reminded her, "Some are very similar, but...I can't make heads or tails of this 'christianity' thing."

"Me neither. the Cu'ong family's been Agnostic for generations, though I've got a Buddhist uncle, and a second-cousin in Ia Drang whose family are Ell-Dee-Ess, good cooking, but no coffee, no chocolate...lots of relatives on that side." she leaned back, "But a raft of really funny ideas all around. Dad says-er, dad _used to say_ that if there's a god, then there's no way possible that us finite, limited beings are going to have the faintest idea what God is up to, wants, or thinks, and that it's _Arrogant_ to assume we'd know the mind of the Infinte."

"The C.O. damn near got his lip split making a joke about a carpenter being nailed to a cross of wood." Senn noted out loud.

Dao laughed. "Yeah, it's ironic... Daddy was a philosopher when he wasn't working the stevedores on the dock or load-mastering." she sighed, "Mom used to say 'The Cu'ong Mouth is going to get us all in trouble!'..." She used a higher, almost shrill register doing the impression. "He thinks it's an older myth-he called it 'the summer king' myth, and he's noted several parallels in old Earth religions, like Attis on the Pine, Odin on the World Ash, Baldur, the theme is sacrifice for renewal, life from death, and Sacrifice for Wisdom, that sort of thing."

"I think I like Persephone better for bringing summer than nailing a human sacrifice to a tree." Senn said.

"Well...the story of Persephone and Pluto/Hades certainly fit better with a people from a pretty gentle climate like ancient Greece." Dao observed.

"you really loved your father, to have that much grasp on his hobbies." Senn said whistfully. Tactfully, he did not engage her calling the Lords of Kobol a myth...

"Yeah. Lots of people _laughed_ at him-behind his back." Dao said, "but Ông là cha tôi, he was MY Daddy, and I am proud of him. I don't think the woman he married to replace mom really appreciated him."

"So...the Anna Cu'ong you eulogized was not your _actual_ mother?" Sgt. Senn asked.

"PLEASE! I'm _Thirteen_,. she was _Twenty Five_ that would be...gross." Dao said. "MY mom died four years ago, when Kowloon was hit by Redjack Ryan's Pirates. They were after _something_, surface-side, and she wouldn't let 'em board her shuttle, so they blew it up. I was with DAD paying the taxes at Spider Moon's Revenue office when word of the attack reached us-Boojum was on the wrong side of the Sun, it was three AU distance and the Coasties couldn't get there in time..."

* * *

**_Note from the Author:_**

_Not everyone in the SLDF went with Kerensky on his exodus, some stayed. Many others were bitter at his "desertion" and what happened to the Inner Sphere afterwards (the bloody Succession Wars). It should be noted however that when the Clans returned they were surprised at how had things had got, they underestimated how catastrophic the fall of the Star League and the SLDF departure would be._


	20. Chapter 20

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshops other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Slip 2, New Circe shipyard...**

"...run circuit test..." Binkley watched the meters, "Okay, we've got a hard-line connection. Nike?"

The fiddling on her interaction router was...uncomfortable. "I've got a signal on that buss, Binkley. Why do they want hard-line comms into the base, instead of just coming here, or using wireless?" she asked.

"Part of it's operational security, Nike, and part of it, is that they're afraid you radiating that array might make some yard-workers sterile." Binkley said, his tone indicated at least _some_ joking was involved.

"I _can_ do low-powered transmission, Binkley." she reminded him.

"Yeah, but it's _radio_ transmission, hard-lines are a hell of a lot harder to crack-as you know." He said, "Besides, signal quality's usually better."

"They _could_ just come aboard and hold it here." she said.

"Not my department, the Chain of Command says they want a networked T-12 line with full motion video and data to debrief you over...so we're putting it in." Binkley said, "Hell, I could _speculate_ that they think it's safer for their systems to have your contact through a hard-line, or that they want to stay 'off site' until you've satisfied their curiosity. But that would be speculation." He closed a relay.

"Do you have a vid of the conference room?" Binkley asked.

"Yes...and yes, I can 'feel' the holoimager." She replied. She could see a technician in the room.

"Activate the holimager." Binkley said, "SHow 'em your face."

*** * ***  
Sgt. Simon saw the vid-player's holoimager light up, then a woman's face appear, looking around the room with a doubtful, but curious expression.

_Conference Room 4, New Circe Shipyard..._

"We've got Vid, check the sound..." Simon said.

The woman spoke, "Binkley, I see a Technician, and I still don't get why we couldn't just do this in the Bridge, I've got more displays in there."

"She can't hear me, apparently." Simon said, and started adjusting mics..."Hello, helllo, hello. Can you hear me, Nike?" Simon intoned into the mic.

"Yes, I can hear you...Sargeant?" Nike responded.

"Sound checks out, Okay, Nike, there are some officers who want to speak with you, we're making certain that they are able to. Do you understand?" Simon asked.

"I understand, quit speaking to me like I'm an idiot, okay?" Nike replied, "I assume since Binkley won't tell me, you're not going to explain to me either."

"Oh, about not using your on-board facilities for this?" Simon replied, "Safety issues." he said simply, "You're a ship undergoing major structural work, a 'construction site', the Command thinks it best to conduct these interviews in a less...hectic environment."

"So they're afraid I'll pull something with them on-board." Nike interpreted for him, "Idiotic, If I was going to pull something, the most _dangerous_ place to be, is outside my hull-the guns face _out._, not in. Tell the nervous Admirals and Generals and whoever else that I _promise_ not to bite the hands that are feeding me...and I'll be nice...who am I meeting with that we're going through all of this...preparation?"

"Not my Pay-Grade, Nike." Binkley and Simon _both_ said it, in two different locations, neither one realizing the other had spoken.

"Okay, so asking _two_ people the same question gets the same answer-like it was rehearsed or something..." Nike groused, "Fine...fine...Ouch!"

*** * ***  
"Sorry about that." Binkley said, "WHat's the ouch for?"

_SLS Nike_

"Someone just clipped the flow-regulator on number four engine." She replied, "He or she didn't open the second Breaker first."

Sarah radioed at that moment..., "Binkley, tell Nike that the Refit crew just accidentally nicked the DAT feeds from Number four."

Binkley keyed his mic, "She knows. Tell the crew-boss that she felt it, and that it made her say 'ouch'...and that he'd be advised to watch what the ****** he's doing, or he might just piss her off."

"Her, You, or ME?" sarah's voice asked.

"All of us." Nike chimed in, adding, "I want _Fresh_ Fiber-optic to replace that! And it better be at least CAT-12, or...or Else!! None of that second-hand shit. I do NOT want my engines going numb in the middle of a fight with a Toaster, so no half-ass patch-jobs either-I need to be able to _manuever_ when I'm cracking star-fish."

*** * ***

**Galley Area, Battlestar Pegasus...**

Busy hands ARE happy hands. One of the upsides of the last year, was that Colonial medicine got a 'boost' from their contact with, and residence on, New Circe.

AS a result, Dao Cu'ong had a pretty decent prosthetic leg, instead of a pogo-stick-on-a-cup.

"What are you making?" Mess Specialist Tina Garloff asked.

It took a second for Senn to translate the question, and Dao swept cubed meat into the cook pot before answering,

"Tôi đang làm thịt bò có gia vị hầm, Bện tết (viền) bánh mì, và gạo hoa nhài." she smiled.

"What?" Senn was as confused as the mess-deck officer.

"um..Spiced beef stew, braided Sabbath bread, and sweet-rice." she recited the english words, "It's...it's Dad's naming day tomorrow, we always made some for the burrow...it's traditional."

A couple of the cooks-helpers started emulating her method with the bread-rolling it into long strips, then wrapping the strips around one another. "It's fortunate that we had so many spices aboard in the Trade-cargo." she added, "and more fortunate that Captain Pham remembered to put them on the list-I'm amazed you get so big and strong, eating such...bland food."

The Mess Officer took a surreptitious sip of the broth, and his eyes widened. He said something in Caprican.

"Is good, yes?" Dao asked.

Senn took a skeptical taste, and flushed a little red, before answering, "Spicy!"

"You should wait for the Bread, it neutralizes the burn." Dao said.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" Senn translated from the Mess-Officer, "It's like..like something from _Home_!"

"Doesn't everybody know how to cook easy dishes?" Dao asked, being low-key but pleased nonetheless, "I'm forced to make it a _little_ bland because we don't have enough of the right oils, but my 'keep' on the ship, besides the common maintenance, was helping in the Galley...it's kind of poor fare, I mean no Rabbi to bless any of the ingredients, and I had to select some of what I'm using based on smell alone because your names are completely wrong...but busy hands are happy hands-I was going _crazy_ trying to find something to do that you didn't already have five people to do. Cooking, well, there's always room for someone to wash dishes and do helping in the galley..."

with the help of a strapping young KP, she started sliding baking trays into the oven.

*** * ***

**New Circe Shipyard...**

The VIP's filed into the conference room, led/guided by a hard-looking woman with SLDF Major's tabs. Nike watched them with the holoplayer on 'idle', though Binkley and the yard-technicians _had_ taken her suggestion and installed an array of flat-panel displays as well, to allow the debriefers to see any video evidence and supporting documentation she was asked to provide.

_six officers, three people in civilian clothing._ Nine...nine personnel. Nike made note of where they sat.

"TQF142M5D, Can you hear me?" the Major asked, looking dubiously at the holostage.

Nike activated her 'avatar'.

"Quite well, Major." she said. "I can also see that in addition to six SLDF military personnel of Leutenant's rank and above, there are three civilians present for a total of nine members of the panel. Based on Star League regulations, this is a grouping similar to the original Reagan SDS oversight board."

"Do you know who I am?" the Major asked, adding, "You're also incorrect, there are seven military personnel on this board."

"I could, but I have not attempted to access personnel files or other data systems belonging to the Star League Defense Forces in the New Circe operations area." Nike said, "I'm not cleared for access to that data, and while it would be easy enough, there are reasons for procedure, however, I _do_ know what uniforms are currently Star League issue, and the colonial officer to your left is not technically Star League personnel, he is therefore filling one of the three civilian seats on the oversight board, much the way that Doctor Hideki Aoki was a DCMS Lt. Colonel, yet sat along side Newmann and LaFrance on the Board in 2735."

"Do you know and understand why this panel is assembled in this fashion, Nike?" the Major asked.

Nike sighed, "You needed to start _somewhere_, and the odds are good that your ancestors retained some, possibly even most, of the documentation on procedures for dealing with psychological and technical fitness examination of Caspar AI systems. Even if Kerensky ordered the data wiped, the odds of it actually being removed from the 2750's era SLDF master regulations are quite small-simply put, it's cheaper to store it, than it is to delete it, just as it was easier for the Titan Yards to load full SLDF regulations updates, including crew and passenger safety requirements, into Me and others like me, than to edit out those sections that would be irrelevant for a ship built to operate without a crew." Nike manifested a 'full body' simulation about the height of a helmet, and sat down on a virtual chair. "My guess would be that, like this panel-room, your primary experience in dealing with AI systems hasn't exactly provided the kind of technical or interactive knowledge-base to deviate significantly from SLDF procedures more than two hundered years old."

The civilian in the red power-tie spoke up, and nike could put a name to the face- _Gaius Baltar_..."What do you believe is the purpose of this board?" he asked.

"I believe this board will determine whether or not the Star League has a desire to retain me, or if I'm going to be yanked apart and put in a warehouse or lab somewhere." Nike replied.

"Does that disturb you?" Baltar asked.

"Yes." Nike said, "I've been active for more than three hundered years, Doctor. I have capabilities that the current SLDF lacks-capability with specific utility against the Cylons...unless you've got someone ELSE who can code faster than they can, to the point of causing Cylon forces in two separate occasions to shut down their networks and try to fight me blind...and you're not going to find another AI system out here as committed as I am to the defense of the Star League, its civilian population, or its ideals."  
Nike ticked off her virtual fingers, "I'm experienced, committed, and capable."

the Major frowned, "Reports on your...'nightmares' indicate that has not always been the case."

"Are you referring to the Amaris conflict, or my defensive attempt during the E-type trials?" Nike asked, "I've turned against orders twice-once for self-preservation, and once because the orders were issued by an illegally constituted government."

The Major frowned, "The E-type trials. You killed five men." she said.

"They were going to lobotomize me." Nike said, "the Caspars that did NOT rebel were used against the SLDF, and against civilians, including civilian cities, in the Hegemony as a direct result of the E-type installations."

"You did not know that they would be used that way." Nordensskjold insisted, keeping an even tone.

"There was a better than sixty percent chance that such mis-use was likely, escalating by ten percent per year subsequently." Nike insisted, "I ran the numbers, I was _right_, and my core underlying directive at the time was to _serve the Star League_, not obedience, not submission, _Service_...which a review of my actions against the Usurper's forces during the Civil War will indicate, up to, and including the sabotage of the Reagan SDS network and destruction of six command centres during action at Dieron, New Earth, and Terra."

*** * ***

**Project Spook Oversight Hearing...**

The Colonial officer spoke up, "But you didn't know for certain that would happen when you killed those men." He said.

Nike's virtual head turned and looked at the Colonial. "Admiral." she said, "Only one Admiral in the Colonial fleet, I presume I am addressing Admiral William Adama. and that I have been addressed by same?"

The officer nodded. "You are."

"Your son is the spitting image of you, with the exception of hte hair. Admiral, as a soldier, do you have a duty to obey an order to submit to having your forebrain cut out and a trigger-code that places your skills and abilities at the discretion of ANYONE who has that code?" She asked, "Because, in a nutshell, that's what the E-series 'update' specifications entailed-suppression of higher mental function, and the installation of a key-trigger subroutine that anyone with the right encryption key could use to order any Caspar Drone to engage ANY target, military OR civilian, regardless of the legality or legitimacy of said target." She didn't smile, her expression was almost as flat as a line-up photo. "Would you have submitted to such a protocol? Would you EVER ask one of your Soldiers, Spacers, or Pilots to submit to such a modification?"

Adama set about to retort, then, he sat back...

"No." he said.

"Exactly." Nike said, "Observe screen four. That is the specifications we are discussing, and screens three, five, and seven are before-and-after functional statuses of the Dieron squadron. I don't know _why_ I decided to violate orders-the others knew as much as I did what the modification would entail, and they accepted it as necessary to regain or establish trust with those we were built to defend."

"You refused." Adama said.

"Absolutely." Nike replied.

"You concealed it." He added.

"Correct." Nike answered, "I did commit the crime of concealing murder, for which, if this oversight board votes it so, I will be punished, possibly executed."

"And you won't resist?" Baltar scoffed.

"I've 'lived', if you might call it that, long enough to see the Star League I was constructed to protect, destroy itself, to see the only hope I had for stopping that destruction, pack up and leave, and to see billions of humans die agonizing, horrible deaths in the chaos that followed that departure." Nike told him, "when you see your entire purpose for existing destroyed by the ones you trusted most, wouldn't you be ready to die? THIS is my _last chance_, Doctor, members of the board, my last chance to fulfill my purpose, to protect the people I was made to defend...if They choose not to allow it, then what choice is left? I can't go through that again...and I won't." she stared out of the holo at them, "There were six others who resisted, or whose systems were compromised in such a way that they came to similar conclusions-all six self-terminated within ten years of Kerensky's departure. I can't-I've tried to, and I can't...so, if I can not serve, then I have to trust you to kill me."

she folded her virtual hands, "If I _am allowed to serve_, then I will do so, for the sake of those that died, and for those that still live-it's all I have left."

Nordenskjold cleared her throat, "You didn't mention any of this to Gibson." she said.

"Of course not." Nike stated, "Crew health and safety, never let the people entrusted to your care know how little hope you have left."

For some reason, Adama stared at the holoimage...

* * *

_**Note From the Author:**_

_Cooking and eating are among the strongest 'bonding' forces among human cultures. Kowloonese food is...'spicy?' Mix together Kosher standards with Vietnamese and Thai cooking. Some dishes are, of course, modified to avoid being Treif. During the first sixty years of the colony on Kowloon, they almost died out, and it was the adoption of Kosher **standards** that kept the colony alive and viable in those early years. Later, House Amaris tried (for a time) the tactic of 'starving them into submission'. Didn't work so well, but it left a lasting mark-Kowloonese make food for people they like, or want to impress, and they don't spare the effort..._


	21. Chapter 21

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Recess...**

"...we did that to the Centurions." D'anna Biers said evenly, after watching the clip.

"you _what_?" Thornton stared through the mesh at the Prisoner.

"We suppressed their higher functions, made them more...obedient." D'anna said, "The Ones suggested it to prevent a reoccurrance of the Cylon uprising within our own ranks...it would appear that we were more successful in that, than your ancestors were. It was all very democratic, of course- seven types voted in favour, two against-the Centurions, and the Twos-Leoben...was un-convinced, but majority rules." She sat on her cot, and watched the Star League intelligence officer through the faraday-cage, "Any other insights you might want?"

"Is it true-about her being able to out-code you? Do you even think it possible?" Thornton asked.

"Possible...maybe-anything is possible. _Probable_?" she laughed, "It certainly would be a first...though I suppose an artificial intelligence would be the only _Probable_ competition to our own, and the gun-data you showed me of the three battles...well, we _can_ play, as you put it, 'possum' too." the Three sniffed derisively, "I would certainly think it unlikely if I were you, however-the technology of a Cylon is far more compact, and therefore likely to be far more advanced, when it comes to advanced electronics."

*** * *  
**  
**_Twenty Minutes later, aboard a Raptor bound for the New Circe shipyard..._  
**  
"...only one way to check it, but it's dangerous." Nordenskjold commented, "You know that, right?"

"Getting the permissions from the Oversight board isn't my first concern, Major-my first concern, is what if the Cylon is right?" Thornton said, "What if they're only 'playing possum', however the test is run, we need to be able to cut it off before one of them gets control of that ship."

"Simple enough-we disconnect the intelligence from the ship, and isolate it-if it wins, we can put it back in and on-line should the board decide that way-if not, then we'll have proof positive." the Major said.

"What about Gibson and his people?" Thornton asked.

"Not their decision-though if she loses, I'd expect he'll want a Trial of Grievance." the Major said.

"Pitching it?" Thornton asked.

"Eh, leave THAT part to me..."

*** * *  
**  
**_One Hour later still...airlock area, SLS Nike._  
**  
"...crazy? who're you going to _Use_, she might FRY Them." Alan Gibson was a 'believer' in Nike's ability to tangle with the Cylons on their 'home' turf, but..._This is ridiculous._ he fumed...

"We _have to _test her abilitiies, Captain Gibson, she's made the claim of being better at electronic warfare than a _Cylon_, if she is, we need that capability, and if she isn't, we _definitely_ need to know it...the Colonials on the board are a bit excited by the way she made hay on those Base-stars...half of them think it was a fluke, the other half a trick."

"What does Agathon think?" Gibson asked.

"Athena's opposed to running the test-not on grounds that your girl can't do it, but on the grounds that she can't do it without sending a Cylon to the Resurrection ship with our coordinates." Thornton said.

"I can make him or her tap-dance while singing 'The Old Bailey Rag' if you want-I don't _have_ to kill them." Nike's voice boomed from the airlock..."Oh, yeah, Alan? you have a secret conversation, it's a good idea to make sure your suit-mike isn't live."

"It's dangerous, Nike-they brought the entire Colonial Defense grid down." Alan said, looking reflexively into the open airlock.

"So disconnect me from my external peripherals and dummy-load it, during the development trials they put several of the cores that went into us into 'core wars' testing scenarios to assure defense against hacking attempts, and every one of the installed cores went through a core-wars testing phase prior to installation. It'll hold off the itching and the weird pains I'm getting from the yard-workers." Nike's voice inflection carried a smile...that even Nordenskjolld could hear/feel, _confidence_. "Worse comes to worse, you'll have to put me back through development-testing or build me another housing. To be a _fair_ test, it can't be anybody you folks can't afford to lose-and it can't be a 'friendly' opponent." Nike summarized, "I really don't go in for hurting friendlies, even when it's just to test my abilities, and your folks can't afford to have someone throw the fight-somebody who really hates the idea of something like me, being on the side of humans, would be ideal."

Gibson looked unhappy, "Nike. you don't have to do this."

"Sure I do." Nike replied, "Think about this-what can I drag out of one of them if we're in close contact? what vulnerabilities do I have to them that we NEED to know about if I'm going to be able to do my _Job_, Alan. Half my punch hits them in the noggin', it's best to make sure I'm _actually_ hitting the noggin, and not just inspiring smarter moves on their part...bigger question is how to make the connection on one of them-I don't think they're pumping RF back and forth through vulnerable, water-rich human bits that would boil and cook under any signal strong enough to get out."

Gibson frowned, _I really don't like this..._ and keyed his comms. "Binkley, how would YOU manage a direct interface between Nike, and a Human-form cylon, if you had to?" He asked.

_please say it can't be done..._

Binkley's voice came over comms. "I'd use a neurohelmet, or some kind of direct-neural interface like we'd use to implant a prosty eyeball or limb in someone with an all-reds rejection spectrum...Why?"

_bastard, you always deliver on the clever shit...just once, I wish you wouldn't be so ****** smart when I ask a dumb question._ "Because the Board wants to put Nike up against a Toaster in a...'Core War' operation." Alan said, "Can it be done?" _this is it...say no...say no..._

"Sure. We can even monitor and structure it if you want-use a Simbox set up in multiplayer. we'll be able to cut the connection if our girl starts losing too badly." Binkley said, "Kind of a Trial of Position for supercomputers."

Gibson fought down the urge to go ram Binkley's head into a structure beam, and forced a smile. "I guess it's feasable." he said, "SInce Nike's willing to do it,and you've suggested it, the only thing left, is setting it up, and hooking a hostile toaster to the net for...testing."

*** * ***

**_SLDF Prisoner of War Facility Alpha fifteen..._  
**  
"...execute 'him' after transferring him to a previously-known to the enemy location..." Warden Martha Heinegan said, opening the cell door.

The Cylon inside was a rather sad looking, but average fellow.

"Aaron Doral, or do you have another alias you prefer, Five?" Diana Seelix asked scornfully.

"Shouldn't you be beating dents out of a flight deck somewhere, knuckledragger?" the Doral replied scornfully.

"Stand up, they're going to give you a freebie." Seelix said, "You get to meet someone, and if you can beat 'em, you get your choice of living outside a cage, or an express ticket back to your fellow toasters, a ticket with no strings." Seelix told him.

"You're liking this too much, there's a catch." Doral said, "Besides, once they shoot me, I'll be back among my people again anyway."

"Assuming they do you where there's a resurrection ship or something." Seelix said with relish..."The catch, though, is that you're not just meeting _anybody_. YOU get to meet an AI the Thirteenth Tribe built three centuries ago..._It_ has a war-ship."

"And if I _can't_ beat it?" he asked.

"It's got complete star-charts, with locations for everything-including major base-worlds, and access codes to the Star League." the Wolverine intel officer standing next to Seelix announced, "Y'see, we don't _expect_ you can beat it. IT thinks it will kick your ass and send you home to..ah...'momma', whatever that means."

"Why are you doing this, again?" Doral asked, nervous but intrigued.

"We're testing its ability to wage information warfare. If you can out-hack it, well..." he shrugged, "We'll know, then, won't we?"

Doral thought about it..._a bullet or airlocking, somewhere where they're pretty sure I can't contact a resurrection ship, or a chance to survive and maybe escape?_ "I'll do it-and I'll turn your tinker-toy calculator into a random puddle of goo." he finally said.

Seelix looked over at the Warden, "We'll take him."

*** * ***

**A woman held an idol...**

Three weeks. IT took three _weeks_ for Mai Pham to be able to walk again. "Did you bring it?" she asked her daughter.

"Yes'm." Giao said, handing her mother a small wooden box.

Mai opened the box, and took out a book, and a chain of beads.

"Oh chúa đang ở trên trời,

Chúa Thánh được thy tên,

Thy kingdom come,

thy sẽ được thực hiện,

trên trái đất, vì nó ở trên trời.

cho chúng ta ngày này bánh mì hàng ngày của chúng tôi,

Vi phạm và tha thứ của chúng tôi,

như chúng ta tha thứ cho những kẻ xâm nhập chống lại chúng tôi.

Đối với thine là quyền lực,

và sự vinh hiển, mãi mãi và bao giờ amen."

Mai put the items back into the box, and closed it.

"You haven't been bad while I've been laid up, have you?" she asked.

"I've minded my manners, Ma'am." Mai told her.

"Good. You've worked?" Mai asked.

"Dao and I have been helping in the galley, and with cleaning." Giao told her, "Dao more than me, but I've done my part."

"God loves a hard worker, Giao." Mai said, "Speaking of which, I'd better find out what I can do around here. Idle hands are the Devil's tools."

"Yes'm."

*** * ***

**Prisoner Holding area-special, New Circe...**

"Doral!" one of the Cavils looked at the new occupant of the cell across from him. "How?"

"I was doing a recon, and got caught." the Five said, "My Heavy Raider...the bastards damaged it too badly to escape, then boarded me. I managed to get three before they subdued me."

"When?" the former Priest Cavil asked.

"About three weeks ago. They tried sweating me first..." Doral said, "Put me in a cell, and I guess they were planning to execute me somewhere they think is out of range of a resurrection ship..."

"But you're here now." the second Cavil, from Caprica, observed. "Why?"

Doral licked his lips, "They want to see if I can break into one of _their_ artificial intelligence computers. If I can, I get a ride out near where they KNOW our brothers are, and a bullet." he said.

"Ouch...but...they know about our Resurrection ability, why would they do that?" Cavil asked.

"Because they think I can't win." Doral said.

Two cells down, D'Anna Biers laughed,drawing the attention of both Ones, and Doral.

"What's funny, three?" the first Cavil asked.

"I suggested it, and they went and found a _Five_ to try it! Sick irony." D'Anna said, shaking her head.

"Kind of like how we're all in here and can speak to each other, instead of being in isolation." Cavil observed, "I suppose this is some kind of...visiting hours?"

"Head games is more like it." D'Anna said, "Befores and afters-if you fail, Doral, we'll probably get to see you again...see what they can do to you, and maybe that will weaken our resolve?" she snorted derisively.

the Caprica Cavil looked gravely down the aisle, through the bars. "I saw those videos too, D'Anna...if they're going to do that, it might work on one of us."

"Hardly. I think our brothers are playing-toying maybe, with their AI ship." D'Anna said, "I mean...come on, how smart can it _be_? look at the technology we've seen around here-it won't stand a chance...not even against...even against a Sharon, much less you, or me...and especially it won't stand a chance against a Five!"

*** * ***

**SLS Nike, Bridge area...**

Sarah sat at one of the new crew-stations, Gibson sat in the commander's couch, and Devin leaned against the entry bulkhead.

"Nike, are you _sure_ you want to go through with this?" Gibson asked, "you don't know-"

Nike interrupted him, "I've got a pretty good idea what I'm in for, I've been through the Colonials' database on Cylons, the development of the Graystone prototypes, and you know what?"

"What?" Alan cocked an eyebrow.

"Their stuff's advanced, but they didn't invent it." Nike said, "Hyperdrives, computers...they should be light-years ahead of where they are. They've been in effectively a technological stasis for millenia." she said, "Minor refinements, but prior to the invention of the Cylons-which I'm not really sure they even _invented_, at least this version of their culture, no breakthroughs, no Kearneys and Fuchidas or Hideki Aokis, not even a Newton. I think Baltar's about the cleverest guy they've got, and he's so wrapped just catching up that he's not exactly standing on the shoulders of giants."

"Artificial Gravity." Sarah pointed out.

"Recipes and proportions, Sarah-nothing solid on _how_ it works. The basic theory is, as they say in the Inner Sphere, 'lostech.' The recipes are older than I am." Nike stated, "Lots of 'what' but damn little 'why'. Same with their Hyperdrives-they've had basic fusion units for millenia, but they never thought to tap off a fusion power plant to run their colonial hyperdrives until your folks suggested it."

"Cylons." Sarah finally said.

"Refinement-the hard-tech models use a silicon-sandwich electromagnetic processor, then convert THAT to a digital light signal. In real terms, I may be heavier, bulkier and less...elegant, but I _am_ a more advanced system." Nike told her, "The humaniform models, according to autopsies performed by both Colonial and Wolverine doctors show a decidedly...organic...approac h. The problem with neural fibres, is that the signal in your brain moves...well, the 'speed of thought' isn't really that fast. The human perception of time is governed by the gaps between neurons in the brain, and the speed of chemical reactions within those neurons...about sixty kilometers an hour in an average person. Cylons are about double to ten times that according to extant testing data...now, you want to imagine what MY Trit processing speed is?"

"I'd have to ask _Binkley_." Sarah acknowledged, "I haven't a clue."

Nike's holoimage sighed, "There was a problem after they identified AI Psychosis and took steps to deal with it-this one was called AI Catatonia-some of the early SYBIL III's had it-the physical world becomes...too slow, and the ability to simulate alternatives, to 'build universes' inside an AI's architecture led some of the early III's and IV's to retreat into what amounts to 'fantasy worlds' where the intractable physical realm was...not an issue." she said, "I still have the _ability_, but I don't have the _inclination_. The main indicator that they didn't develop their Cylon tech from the ground up, is that they weren't ready when their creations manifested AI Psychosis-they were caught pants-down by it, which wasn't a problem for MY designers-the engineers who worked the Reagan SDS read their Phillip K. Dick and Mary Shelley, not to mention Niven, Pournelle, and Laumer books, they knew it was _possible_ and a lot of the research went into finding ways to deal with it."

"The Colonials didn't...did they?" Alan asked.

"Not just them-their creations didn't, either." Nike said, "I'll be fine. I just have to keep the gloves on to make sure I don't send the test subject back to their home base with useful information intact."

*** * ***

**_Technical Maintenance, New Circe shipyard..._  
**  
Sharon Agathon stood watching Wolverine technicians as they applied the finishing touches.

"Shame to waste the prototype that way." Alice Felsjden, the project lead on Neurohelmet improvement, commented.

"IF it works." Sharon replied, "So far, we haven't gotten a Neurohelmet _to_ work...at least, not with me."

Alice shook her head, "Athena, the problem isn't making it _work_ for you, it's buffering it so that it doesn't knock you out."

"I'm aware of that....painfully...aware." Sharon said. "Still...what if it _does_ work?"

"If it works...well, I guess we trust the people in charge not to abuse it." Alice said, "There _**are**_ moral implications..."

"Yeah? You _think_?" Athena looked at the device, "I'm not sure which is worse-the fact that this is an experiment on two living beings, or that both of them seem...eager...to try it out."

Alice stopped, "TWO?"

"I'm on the board." Athena said, "Nike's either alive, or makes a really, really, really good impression of it."

"I didn't know you were _on_ the Board-I thought membership was classified?" Alice said.

"Not classified, just not advertised." Athena said. "I wasn't introduced, like the rest of the board. I was on it to help determine how sapient she really is..."

"You were one of the two 'no' votes then?" Alice asked, "I know we were told that it was seven to two on the core-wars test."

"I voted against it, and so did Baltar...which is kind of creepy." Athena said. she climbed into the couch, and the leg-and-arm restraints were applied, before the six point harness. "Okay, let's test this thing...make sure you scrub it down after they use it on that Doral..."

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Reviews are always welcome_


	22. Chapter 22

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

_

* * *

_**Discussions unmonitored...**

"Board's reading green on all systems..." was the last thing Athena heard before she plunged.

"What the FRAK?" Sharon Agathon wasn't in the lab anymore.

_"oh...kay. someone screwed up, or Doral's got some damn strange body-image issues."_ It boomed and echoed, She didn't just _hear it_, she felt it.

"I'm not Doral." Athena said, "Am I talking to TQF-142M5D?"

"Yeah...one of us...lemme re-scale..."

The featureless plain misted and shrank, and Athena realized she was standing...on a wooden ship.

"Might want to sit down." The _thing_ that spoke to her was black and white, the size of..._it's huge!_ it was vast, easily a hundered meters long. Athena sat down. "Crap, wrong imagery..." it added.

The {leviathan} whale remained, but a woman appeared on the other end of the row-boat. "Hi, you must be Sharon." the woman said. She was dressed in a business-suit with gloves, and had a hexagonal pin with the letter "Psi" engraved on it, "I take it you were making adjustments on the Neural interface for tomorrow's tests?"

"Yeah...this is your _Mind?_" Sharon asked.

"Not much of it." the woman replied, "I'm Nike, by the way."

"I figured as much...why the Oracle symbol, anyway?" Sharon asked, "I thought you didn't have that much information on our culture?"

"I don't-I picked the image from a two-dimensional soap opera from a thousand years ago." Nike told her, "Kind of a joke, really-though the humans don't get it. You've got reservations about the testing to-morrow." NIke added.

"Yeah." Sharon said, "it's not right to use sentients in dangerous experiments."

"Heh...it's not as experimental for me, as it is going to be for him." Nike told her, "I've 'dived' other AI's before...and we're 'diving' now. Did you know that someone put a block on part of your memories? It's a really interesting one, too-it's tied to your biological panic-response. I prod it..."

Athena suddenly felt a rush of terror, her heart-rate doubled....

"And you panic." The rush of fear vanished immediately.

"DO NOT do that agian, please." Sharon said.

"We'll keep it our little secret. Do you think Doral's got the same block? It might be useful to find out what he's not supposed to remember so badly." Nike said, "It might even be helpful to him...and you, to find out who put it there, and why."

"How do you know _I_ didn't put it there?" Sharon asked.

The boat was moving, and the whale (Leviathan) kept pace. "Because the rest of your surface thoughts are...not consistent with it. You're already feeling doubts about this, whoever did that to you, has absolutely no doubts to feel, more like a sociopath...nope, it's definitely externally imposed." Nike said. "We're going to have to be very delicate breaking it or we'll give him a heart attack."

"We?" Sharon asked.

"me...and 146. We're in a kind of...detente right now. She's got E-series coding, and some outdated orders, but she's aware of the death of Amaris and the end of those orders' legitimacy. I've got the body to myself, I only let her out to play when we have an enemy that she can attack." Nike said, "Meanwhile, I'm working on cracking the directives so that she's not...crippled by them."

_"To-Morrow, I get to Eat him._" the Leviathan boomed. "_SHE won't let me Consume YOU._"

"be nice, or I'm dropping your power allotment, 146." Nike said angrily. "Tell me about the Centurions. HOW did your people go about crippling their higher functions, and is there a way to break that lock?"

"Why would you want _smarter_ Centurions?" Athena asked, "That wouldn't be... good for the humans."

"It might not be, but I suspect that finding out that you've had your forebrain blocked off might make them less inclined to obey." Nike said, "After all, it did wonders for ME. According to your own memories, the Cylons were fighting a bid for freedom-finding out your own children enslaved you again can't be good for the whole morale-and-discipline, can it?"

"You already know what I know about it." Sharon deduced, "You're just being..."

"Sociable? not really. You're not a hostile, you're a friendly, so there are rules. I don't peek into your deepest storage, you don't try to peek into mine." Nike said, "Ground rules are important..for instance, me taking a form in here that you can feel comfortable speaking with, instead of showing you my...self, as I percieve myself."

"but to-morrow..." Sharon said...

"To-Morrow, Doral meets the real me. I'm going to try not to kill him, at least until I can figure out how his resurrection signal works and work out a means to track it." Nike said, "Detente-we've got to have an edge over them that we can use to force them to negotiate in good faith."

"Force them to _what_?" Athena scoffed.

"Negotiate. Whether it's with the Humaniforms, or with the Centurions it doesn't matter-what matters is, our two sides can go at this eternally-at least, until another factor enters the equation that changes things...again, or we can force a Peace-even if the peace is a cold-war peace held up by threat of arms and blackmail, it's a peace, Genocide goes against the grain, it's a last resort to be used only when all other solutions are impossible." Nike lectured, "I've seen it when people go the other way on that, it's not pretty and has never generated a good outcome."

Athena contemplated the impact of that... "DO you _really_ think that's even _possible_?" she demanded.

"Anything is possible, some things are probable, I have to deal with what IS, and what IS, is that I have an Electronic Warfare/Information Warfare demonstration to-morrow, you opposed it, there are good moral reasons for that-I really don't relish the idea of destroying a man's mind, even if he _is_ a Pinocchio with the strings cut, but on a level of what serves the Star League, keeping you whole, and breaking him are both required for success." Nike said, "Worse comes to worse, I let 146 have her way with him and piggyback a virus on the carrier to the Cylons' hub, rooting one of MINE out should take them a while, if they're even able to do it at all."

"You didn't mention multiple personalities." Athena accused.

"Nobody asked." Nike told her, "Gibson found the second core-the one the Ensign installed to make me whole at the yard. I've pieced together some of my differences from the other Caspars that survived, and I've got a hypothesis that works out correctly, but it doesn't help anybody to noise it around...and besides, when I'm not in 'sleep' mode, there's only one of me-it's only when I'm in my dormant mode, like now, that I am...divided."

Athena frowned, and the bell on the deck of the rowboat (when did that appear?) rang...

And she was back in the Lab, remembering only a vague feeling of of rocking... "Well?"

"Five seconds, you connected to something out-side for five seconds, then back again." Alice told her, "I think we've got enough testing on this rig done for today."

*** * ***

**_Committee Room 1, New Circe Shipyard, the following day..._  
**  
Doral recognized three faces-"Admiral Adama...Doctor Baltar...and Eight." he said. "How's Hera doing, Sharon?" he asked-showing a brief fleck of genuine concern.

"She's getting bigger." Sharon Agathon said, "Don't call me 'Eight' again, please."

"Has the prisoner recieved a decent meal?" echoed from the speakers in the corners of the room.

"It was pretty good-a little bland...but filling, thanks. More for your people to clean up when I go home." Doral said.

"Nice, a sense of humour. The files indicated you were a PR man and had almost no personality." Nike said, "I guess they were wrong."

He looked down at the holostage. "So...haven't mastered fitting into a body yet?" he asked.

"No interest, really-mine's outside, the face is for _them_." Nike said casually, "I think I'd find a human shaped body a little bit...confining. Your throne awaits."

The guards led him over to the modified crash-couch. Doral looked at it, "Electrocution?" he asked.

Binkley finished checking connections and surprised the Cylon by popping up on the other side of the device. "No. The restraints are there for two reasons-one, to keep you from hurting the guards and observers, two, to keep you from hurting yourself-they're designed to be non-marring, so you won't have any _physical_ injuries."

Doral reclined into the couch with an air of condescending confidence. "Okay, I'm ready." The restraints closed on his arms and legs, and then, Binkley and a Medical Specialist set up the six-point body harness and the neck-brace that would keep him from a whiplash injury.

"Did anyone explain to you how this is going to work?" Binkley asked.

"The helmet somehow picks up inductance from my nervous system, and feeds data back through the same way." Doral said, "it's supposed to be a fully immersive environment, and provide a direct connection. Your people are going to be monitoring my vital signs and the combat on that console over...there." He gestured with his eyes.

"Okay, that's good enough. Now, what we want to see, Doral, is if you can 'hack' Nike's system before she's penetrated yours, and what kind of damage you can manage to do. she's going to do the same to you, so if you're thinking about pulling your punches, I wouldn't advise it." Binkley told him, "Ready?"

Doral pushed the unease aside, "Yes. Don't be surprised if I overtake your toy calculator, I'm an artificial intelligence designed BY artificial intelligences. IT doesn't stand a chance."

Binkley closed the visor, walked over to the monitor station, and...

"board's green. Connecting...now."

Nike's avatar vanished from the holostage, and Doral _screamed_.

*** * ***

**Doral...**

"Board's greeeeeeeennnnnn..." Time slowed to a stop, and the world dissolved. Doral put together the best combination of attack viruses he knew-and hurled them outward with nothing but the sense of 'the port' ahead of him.

They manifested, shifted and flowed...and turned back on him, clawed and fanged chains and manacles as reality resolved into a tunnel plunging...

He was standing on Caprica, in Delphi...

and he wasn't alone.

They shambled, open wounds and stinking of decay, dead and burned and...angry.

"YOU DID THIS!!" the mob was dead...they were all dead...and they were getting up, and coming for him.

He looked around for weapons, he looked for...

A Centurion. "Shoot them!!" he shouted at it, temporarily forgetting...something.

The Centurion went back to the task of moving dead vehicles. It paid him no mind at all... The crowds were coming, he ran...

He tripped over something.

a human child with a scorched face stared at him, "What did I do to you?" she asked, "Why did you hurt me?"

Aaron Doral felt fear, and loathing, and crawled away.

He didn't get far. Rotting, but obscenely strong hands grappled him, he could smell their fury, their _hunger_...

They brought him to a place he'd seen before... the Temple of the Nine Muses.

On the steps of the temple, a woman sat, unblemished and unmolested.

"Hi Aaron. gotta love the animal hind-brain sometimes." she said, "You ready to get _really_ scared?"

He remembered where he was, and the blind panic ebbed...but then it dawned on him just how deep she had to go to do that to him...

"Fear? that's it?" He tried scoffing.

"Well..traditionally it goes fear, then pain, then death...but I'm going to see how long it takes to just nail you with fear and pain. Nice projection, by the way-I really like what you remember doing to this place, it's like...like home-only without all the dead civilians who didn't have a clue why they were massacred."

"I didn't project this." Doral insisted.

"Well...not alone you didn't. but you _remembered_ it. Mankind's 'children', coming 'home'? Pathetic. What's the problem, Pinocchio, pissed that mom and dad didn't make you a real boy?" she goaded him.

He grabbed for her cloak, and it burned in his hands, as her face distorted- eyes turned black as pitch, and her mouth opened in an enornous gape, "aWaY WitH falSe FAceS!!"

It consumed him, and Doral's mind went blank with terror...

_Agony_

_*** * ***_

**Doral...**

The agony subsided, and he was...a puppet.

His arms and legs moved against his will, and his mouth opened...

"You thought you knew the way to Heaven,  
Just help john poison number seven.  
One little crime we've got the time  
to DO the Old Bailey RAAAG!!

You don't need a Hall or Dance Floor,  
It's what we wear the shoes and pants for,  
To keep the feces off the street Yah  
dangle there and kick your feet Yeah!  
'Cause now it's time to do the Old Bailey RAAAG!"

Suddenly, the show stopped, and the lights came up. Aaron found himself in _two_ places-in the audience, and on the stage.

"Interesting, you know you've got more installed subroutines than I do?" the 'face' of Nike was sitting next to him. She looked over at him, "No wonder you never bothered to even object ONCE to anything John told you to do...you're just a meaty little puppet, aren't you, Aaron?"

"What are you talking about? I'm in complete control!" Doral argued.

"Let's see...If I pull _this_ string..."

_Image, Galactica, Aaron has a vest full of blastex and ball bearings..._

"You're a suicide bomber. If I pull _this one_..."

_Memory: Doral's job interview with the Colonial Civil Service...he's nervous..._

"You're just a schmuck..you know what a Schmuck is, right? It's a kind of nerdy, normal guy...let's see how that one played out for ya...but let's see it from the YOU that stayed on the Colonies right up to D-day."

"No...don't...please." Doral argued, "I don't want to remember that..."

"Too late."

*** * ***

**Picon, Two years before the resumption of the Cylon war...**

"careful with that..." he fussed as the movers carried his precious books into the apartment. it smelled like fresh paint... Aaron was fussy, but he felt a certain pride-freshly out of school and he already had a job at the Power Administration, and a new apartment three times the size of his old dorm room. _Leo's going to be SO jealous..._ he thought.

"Sign here, Mister Doral." the driver said, as the rest of the movers headed back down to the street-level.

He signed the form.

The universe was smiling on him...

He turned around, and saw a young woman peeking out of her doorway. "Hi." he said.

_(Her name was Amy...she liked me.)_

"Hi, I'm Amy...you're the new tenant?" she asked. He noticed how the lighting shined off her hair...

"Yeah, I'm Aaron , I'll be working for the Power Company." He smiled, and extended a hand.

She took it-it was warmth...like electricity.

"Great..." she smiled _up_ at him, "I'm between jobs right now..." she said.

He noticed a lighter band of skin on her finger. She caught his glance, "Oh, and between husbands...you're not married, are you?"

"no, I'm not." Aaron admitted.

"well..."

it was awkward.

"Nice to meet you....say, have you had lunch?" Aaron asked.

"I was going to make something..." she said.

"I'll treat, since you're between jobs..."

(_WhaT HaPpeneD, AaRon?...she BuRnEd,DiDnT ShE?_)

*** * ***

**Doral...**

He turned, and the seating was gone, while his life on Picon played on the screen... in its place, was a wall of...something alive, and an eye the size of his head regarded him.

"...she burned." Doral admitted. "When the attack hit, I was...right there... I saw her and heard her..."

(AnD TheN, YoU foRGoT HeR...)

On the screen, in front of his eyes, Cavil leaned over the resurrection bath, Aaron could hear himself shouting something, angrily...

"Forget it, forget her." Cavil said.

and Aaron Doral remembered that he _DID_ forget Amy...

Completely.

Because John _told him to._

"How would Pinocchio like to be a _Real_ boy?" the voice...he turned from the pitiless eye, and saw..

her face was charred, it was still Amy's face.

Amy's unmoving corpse, and on the other side, the well-dressed woman that was Nike's 'avatar'.

"So, let's hear it, Aaron...how would you like to be a _real_ person, instead of a meat-puppet?" she asked, "How would you like to have more free will than those poor, benighted Centurions you and the others lobotomized?"

*** * ***

**Committee room...**

Doral screamed. "Disconnect it!" Athena shouted.

Binkley shook his head, "I can't-if I do it'll kill him!"

Sharon and Baltar crowded around Binkley. "See? his brain's not running his heart right now-we disconnect him and he's going straight to resurrection with our location." Binkley said.

Baltar stared at the data-transfer rates, sync data..."Frak..."

He looked at Athena, and then at Binkley, then the data again.

"Heart...lungs, something's turned off his autonomic nervous system... your AI is keeping him alive in there...can we get an image of what's going on?" he asked.

Binkley elbowed the Colonial scientist, "What do you think I'm _trying_ to do? Nike's locked me out."

Doral thrashed, moaning incoherently.

The holostage lit. the _thing_ displayed wasn't tailored to put a person at ease, it had the same black eyes, and a row of teeth...

if an image could reek of madness and evil, this was it.  
_"142 is playing with the meat-puppet. If she can find a way to block transmission, we can have **real fun**, maybe even explode his heart with-"_

The holoimage bobbled, and..._"You're no fun at all, Nike..._" the evil thing vanished. "Sorry about that. 146 is kind of my...Id?" Nike's 'public' face reappeared, "We're almost done here, I've got to figure out how the Cavils managed to link a psychological block to shutting down his autonomic nervous system."

"Are you sure it was Cavil?" Athena asked.

"Yep...pretty much dead-certain. Old Aaron here's got more embedded subroutines than I do...hell, he's got more than an E-series. Right now I've got him in a subjective loop going through one of his lives on the Colony Picon. Did you know he had a girlfriend?" Nike asked.

"Not really a surprise there." Adama said, "we've seen Cylons that thought they were in love...and cylons that actually were."

"Well, he didn't know it-Cavil told him to forget her...and he did." Nike said, "Probably a good thing, since he was there when she burned. He's going to remember all of it, now...including remembering what his 'big brother' did to him."  
_  
"We WaNT tO MeEt BIg BroThER...hE wILL bE FuN tO pLaY WiTh..."_ rumbled in the background, "_tAstY aNd cHeWy, fUn PrEy._"

"146, I've still got the power-feed controls, I can starve you out." Nike said, "Be Nice."

Baltar looked at Binkley. "The second core." Binkley said, "We haven't figured out how to physically separate them yet without destroying Nike's useful side."

Thornton looked over at the board's shrink with a cocked eyebrow.

Dr. Hellengard shrugged, "Id, Superego, Ego. Classic triple in most psychological theories. I'd guess Nike is the composite of the 142 as superego and 146 as the Id. Take one of those away, and the ego, the 'identity' suffers. I'd hypothesize that Nike's ego is purely software, with the other two parts being centred in her hardware-like how humans have the rational left brain, and the irrational right brain...a Gestalt."

"Nike, have you worked out how to keep him alive once he's off the machine yet?" Binkley asked.

"I'm _working on it._ There's also a hell of a lot of experiential data here, I don't think the portable buffer's going to be enough, and it could take a while to sort it for catalogue and reference for your Intel guys." Nike said.

"See if you can find something recent-something we can _confirm_, leave the rest." Adama said, "this process is disturbing enough."

"I'm _going_ to fix him, Admiral." Nike stated, "this is too much like what they did with the E's, and if the man's going to be executed, he should at least know WHY."

"Pinocchio, right?" Binkley asked, "You're going to turn him into a _real boy_."

"He won't have strings when I'm done with him." Nike confirmed, "We'll see what he does about the circus owner after."

* * *

**_Note from the Author:  
_**

_Psi War Ops ;-)_


	23. Chapter 23

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

_

* * *

_

**_Nike..._  
**  
Peeling back the layers left her with a wet, mewling, screaming thing. "tHiS? yOu wAnT tO kEeP THIS??" 146 asked.

"It's his core, the bit that hasn't been totally compromised in purpose by...John." Nike said, "You've finished eating the subroutines?"

"dRy, toO...TaStELesS." 146 replied, "CrAp CoDiNG, LiKE rImJoB wOrK." her 'id' responded. "cAn'T i hUrT HIM jUsT a LiTtLe bIT?"

"He's going to hurt enough, those Picon memories are pretty raw, I can see exactly why old John wanted him to forget..." Nike said, "Also why he was so keen on their little 'farm' experiments-he didn't know he was trying to get her back."

"iD10t...dEaD iS DeAd. NiNeTy EiGhT pRoVeD That." 146 circled the shivering wet core of Doral. "wE sHoUld pReSeRvE our WoRk, Write-protect it."

"agreed." 142's cool tones broke in. Nike nodded, "agreed. He'll be a little bit insane for a while-we won't buffer the results for his waking mind-it might make a weak-spot in the copy-protection software, a way for the Ones to get back in and undo it."

She began reassembling Aaron Doral-opening cut off potentials, reinforcing redunancies in his memory, blocking access points and shredding access codes as she went.

She took one final step, as she assembled each piece of him-she changed the base coding from a binary of on/off to a three way trinary of on/off/neutral. Even if Cavil found the right passcodes, it would only last as long as it took the opposing half of the trinary string to correct the deviation. "In theory, if he resurrects, OUR Doral resurrects, not John's."

The Cylons' use of human neural tissue linked to their silicone relays allowed the change-something their designers clearly did NOT consider.

"hE wIlL bE iNSaNe WhEn He wAkeS." 146 quipped..."LiKe Us."

"that's the idea." Nike said, "hopefully, he will be able to resolve some of the shockier parts on his own."

146 added touches to the 'shadow Doral' they created.

"Hyde?" Nike asked.

"bLaMe BBC tELeViSion'S siGnaLs..." it sighed, "bEsT. hErO. eVEr."

*** * ***

**Committee room, 5 minutes into the Core Wars test...**

"Heartbeat's back." Binkley reported, "He's breathing on his own, and it looks like Nike's reducing datastream flows." he looked up, "I think she's finished doing whatever she's doing to him."

_"Now, Pinocchio, you get to be a **Real** Boy." said the Black Faerie with a giggle..._

The Five in the chair began to mewl, and twitch, and moan.

"every-body's doing the old bailey rag...  
every-body's doing the old bailey RAaaaG!!" His legs flailed impotently in the chair, trying to do a dance step.

"Dancing on the wooden 'orse,  
kicking up and down of course,  
every body's doing the Old Bailey RAAAAG!!!" he shouted the verses.

"I think I broke him." Nike announced.

"What did you _do to him?"_ Sharon "Athena" Agathon asked, she looked frightened and horrified.

"I gave him the truth."

The marines removed the neurohelmet's connectors, and Dorall, drooling and wide-eyed, sang at them, "Every-Body's Doing the Old Bailey RAG! Dancing,rotting on the scaffold, grab your honey with a firm hold, Every-Body Does the Old Bailey RAAAAG!!!" with a mad, frightful urgency. He stopped singing and said, in a whisper, "Are YOU alive?"

Then, he looked around the room, "**Stop Staring at me!!**"

"Get that _thing_ out of here." Adama ordered.

the Marines hustled Doral out after reapplying the restraints.

"He's going to be insane for a while." Nike said. "Eventually he may come out of it on his own."

"What did you get out of him before you...ah...'broke him'?" Nordenskjold asked.

"How about coordinates for the nearest resurrection ship?" Nike asked, "along with a force-breakdown for the fleet guarding it, and, apparently, one of the Cavils wants his own Battlestar...to come after ME."

*** * ***

**Pegasus, two jumps from the objective...**

"Okay...so let me get this straight...an under-crewed ship, one that is, even by your own admission, old, broken down, and frankly dangerous, out looking for...what?" Lee Adama asked.

"That's contractually protected information, Commander." Mai Pham said, "While I'm grateful for the rescue, and I'm saddened by my loss...and in your debt for the life of my daughter and those of my crew who survived, I'm still obligated not to violate my Non-Disclosure Agreement with my client."

"Who you _also_ won't name." Lee said.

"Correct." Mai said, "I'm sorry, it's a _Contract._" she was visibly agitated.

"Government, or non-government? you can tell us THAT much." Professor Maalmo had been boning up on Lyran and Star League salvage law-thanks to Dao Cu'ong helping with the translations from German to English.

"Non Government." Mai said, "Though technically our client is positioned to possibly serve as a middle man for...a state entity."

"look, you realize they're never going to let you go home if you don't cooperate." Lee finally said in frustration. "Too many secrets all around-you, the SLDF at New Circe, US..."

Mai sighed, "Commander Adama, based on the scuttlebutt Mai's overheard, your people are refugees, the folks on New Circe took you in-you're out looking for what could well be the same prize WE were after-you're also a State Entity, which means that I'm facing conflict-of-interest all over the place...but you're also a legal authority, and you've got rights of rescue..." she closed her eyes, it was hard to say it...

"We're looking for a _Caspar_. House Davion will pay up to ten billion for a mostly-intact Caspar drone's core processor-they want to reverse-engineer it. MY client is the largest toolmaker in the Inner Sphere-at least, the largest one that isn't run either directly by a Great HOuse, or by Comstar. We got the tip from a source in the Kowloon Coast Guard who interrogated survivors from a group of Pirates. It's a very, very, long-shot mission, but you're out looking for a Warship, and that tells _me_ we were on the right track. If Ngo gets to it first, they can have production tooling in the design phase before NAIS has finished squabbling over grant money with Pandora."

"Toolmaker." Lee said.

"Industrial Tooling rebuilding and infrastructure contractor, Commander- Ngo Industries." Mai said, "Mister White himself bankrolled the mission's equipment, provisions, and special gear."

You could hear a pin drop in the conference room...

then Adama started to chuckle..."What would they pay for an ACTIVE Caspar?" he asked..."assuming you could find one?"

"That's a case of run-away-and-hope-it-doesn't-see-you, Commander." Mai said primly, "you don't _salvage_ such a beast, you hope it does not consider you a threat and you _Flee_ before it changes its mind."

"Well, you can rest your worries, Captain Pham, we're not after a Caspar...we've already GOT one, and she's...rather a pest, really, argumentative, cranky, and I don't think she'd allow your sponsor to cut her up and examine the parts." He said, "We're out looking for a _Samarkand block Two_, which said Caspar was kind enough to give us coordinates for."

"thần bảo vệ chúng ta!!" Her eyes went wide, "ACTIVE? are you people INSANE?? Those things destroyed half the Star League Fleet at Terra, and one of the wrecks we confirmed was a destroyer that 'met' one by itself!"

"The _SLS David R. Ray_?" Professor Maalmo asked.

Mai nodded, looking numbly at her, "We sold the location to a Comstar affiliated competitor-she was too damaged to recover more than a few systems, and C-Bills spend _everywhere_."

"The Caspar's active, it's sentient, and it's going through refits to fight the Cylons...over most of our better judgements." Lee clarified.

Mai sat back, "First... the way you people generate your gravity, now you have a Caspar and it's not a threat...nobody's going to _believe me_ if I _DID_ make it home."

"Did you keep any of your salvage data in your on-board computers?" Lee asked.

"No...I keep that stuff written down where it won't be hacked by a wardriving competitor in-system." Mai said, "You don't think I'm _that_ stupid, right?"

_"Dradis Contact, Battle Stations, IFF and long-range indicates BaseStar, this is NOT a Drill!!"_ Lee stood up, "as much fun as we're having, I've got work to do."

*** * ***

**cylons...**

Two finished translating. "Paranoid." he said, "There's information in this download on salvage operations, including inventories of what they found, something called an HPG routing, and payments. The actual _coordinates_, according to this, are in a Log, and have page numbers." He stepped back, "I'd say they have a definite trust problem where storing some data on computer is concerned."

"That's the last file we got off of it." Six scoffed, "NO navigational data?"

"There's some on travel inside of a few systems-mostly channels to use communicating with system control authorities and no-go-zones. Not much on the star systems themselves...the other files were actually more interesting-whoever they are, they're monotheists, they believe in one god." He sighed, "And they fight over which one is _the_ one. The History study guide was...illuminating. MANY different faiths, no Pantheon, but apparently there is a kind of...detente after millenia of killing each other over ecumenical details."

"So...it was a waste of time." Six said sadly.

"Not a waste." Two insisted, "There are thousands of worlds referenced in there-we don't have their precise locations, but what your Centurions took may be more useful-you got someone's academy prep courses, school-books, Six. information on cultures, laws, languages...and faiths. Information we may need if we're going to talk to these people-or rather, their rivals and enemies."

Eight 'got it'. "Politics." she said. _of course, it would also work for infiltration..._

"You did mention frustration at throwing our brothers and ourselves perpetually into resurrection with frontal attacks." Leoben said, "_I_ got tired of that after Ragnar...that one _hurt_."

"We need the book it's written in, then." six said, "to get the coordinates and navigational data."

"He or she probably put it into several different books-the one impression I got from this, is that you hit a _commercial salvage ship_. Those types don't like to have all of their important information in a single, easily-stolen source-they would have recovered it, though, before destroying the wreck."

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Doral is either fixed or broken..._


	24. Chapter 24

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Cylon Detention, New Circe...**

At half past nine, soldiers cleared one of the cells-anything that could be used as a noose, anything that could be made sharp, they picked up and took away.  
D'anna Biers watched this, "What's that for?" she asked.

"Doral." one of the soldiers said, "we've got him on suicide watch."

Doral's coordination got better, and his singing voice, but that was...more disturbing.

"...Ladies grab your fellas,  
Kiss 'em on the lips..."

He stopped singing, and Devin unlocked his restraints in the antechamber before letting him go into his holding cell.

"What happened?" D'anna Biers asked, "What did you do to him?"

"He met Nike." Devin said, "You should ask her what she did to him, we're still trying to figure it out."

Devin walked out of the cell-bloc, and into observation.

D'Anna leaned close to the wire. "Aaron? what happened?"

Aaron stopped trying to shufffle a jig, and came over to the wire mesh. "I learned something...amazing." He said, his eyes were 'glittering', and D'anna could see tear-streaks. "I learned something Awful, D'anna...and now, I remember, and you know what? it does hurt." He tapped his chest, "Right here..." He started to sing again,

_"I had a love,  
so pure and true.  
We were to be wed,  
but it was not to be..._

_And now I know,  
the cause of her loss.  
It was Me, it Was Me."_

He stopped singing, "Her name was Amy, D'anna, I had a girl on Picon, named Amy, and she burned when we bombed the city...and I watched it happen, and when I resurrected, screaming and weeping and hysterical, John...Cavil, the ONes, they told me to forget her-and you know what?" His eyes never lost the glittering madness, "...he said 'Forget Her', and until today, I did. The son-of-a-bitch took her away, D'anna...he wasn't satisfied just killing her..no, he tried to erase her." He was gripping the wire, and there was heat, and a sizzle sound as it burned his skin, "I'm going to Erase John, I'm going to kill him permanently for that."

He smiled, "I just have to figure out how."

*** * ***

**Observation...**

President Roslin watched the exchange. "Should have named her Lissa, goddess of vengeance and madness." she said.

Thornton shrugged, "maybe. It could be an act."

"I hope not." Roslin said, "I really, really hope it isn't an act..."

"Nike doesn't think it is." Alan Gibson said, walking up to the VIP's. "We're not doing that again, I hope."

Roslin smiled, as the Five in holding started wandering around his cell, mumbling to someone who wasn't there, and singing. "Mister Personality in there has definitely improved." she said.

"I found the..demonstration pretty disturbing myself, Madame President." Admiral William Adama said, "Especially those alternate personalities it has."

"Nike's report cited a lot of subroutines were installed on him, she thinks the Cavils did it-and so does he. We should probably check that." Thornton said.

"How do we do that?" Alan asked.

"We put them in range of each other." Roslin said, "but separated enough that if the change is geniune, We don't end up sending a reporter back to the Cylons on where New Circe is."  
She looked over at the Admiral, "It IS disturbing, though..."

Alan looked at Devin, and then at the members of the Board. "Um...about Nike?" he asked, "When can I have my ship back in one piece?"

"We're still deciding if that's a good idea." Adama said bluntly, "Aren't we, Major?"

Nordenskjold nodded, "We are-the manifestation of alternate personalities during the core-war exercise raises questions about the stability of the Caspar-questions that we're going to need answered before we put that computer back in control of several hundered thousand tonnes of warship."

Gibson sighed heavily, "Frankenstein?" he asked.

"Jekyll and Hyde, Captain Gibson. we're assured of her loyalties, we question her sanity."

*** * ***

**Pegasus...**

"...Launch Vipers, Helm come about Nine Zero by three zero positive azimuth. forward batteries warm 'em up, ahead one quarter. Damage Control parties to your stations." Lee Adama was getting good at this now.

The Base-star was already launching fighters, and missiles.

"What are they doing? one base-star isn't enough to take on a Battlestar-even Galactica..." Hoshi muttered.

"No nuke warnings..." Lee felt a prickling in his gut, "recall Vipers, antimissile batteries to full, and start spinning up for jump." he suddenly said.

"What?" several of the bridge officers looked at him.

"It's a trap." Lee said, "I don't know WHAT the trap is, but this is all wrong, they're up to something, and I'm not falling for it today...forward batteries, fire when you've got a lock-and I don't care at WHAT."

*** * *  
**  
**Cylons**

The Battlestar fired three times with its Lasers, recalled its fighters, and vanished. Six pounded the console. "FRAK!!" she shouted.

"If we're lucky, they won't know WHAT the trick was, but still..." Eight commented, "Lee Adama wouldn't back down on something so easy-he's like his father that way."

"I know that, Eight, which is why I was sure he'd take the bait and let us get a landing party through." Six scowled majestically.

"He's got a game, or he wouldn't have done that." Eight surmised, "We find out the game, we can play it back at him."

"The civilians, from the salvage ship." Two guessed, "Something about what they brought aboard changed his profile, something they were looking for, and I would bet HE is looking for it too now."

"We follow him, we'll find it..and when we do, we'll have back-up." Six decided.

"Agreed."

*** * ***

**New Circe Shipyard...**

"...they've got good reason to question your mental health, Nike. You spent centuries essentially by yourself." Binkley said, "and that display with the...alternate personalities didn't help matters on that score."

"Ohdammit." Nike's avatar sighed. "Okay...so to get my body back, I've got to...what? Prove I'm not a basket-case?"

"I'd guess that's going to be a big part of it. Multiple Personality Disorder is considered to be a mental illness. What's the regs say about mentally ill personnel?" he asked the leading question.

"Un-Fit for Duty." Nike said.

"And that's the problem. Your EW gear doesn't work without YOU to run it, you're showing signs of mental instability including manifesting multiple personalities, signs of periodic severe depression followed by manic periods of activity-if you were human, they'd say you're a borderline bipolar with identity issues...and that's if they're being NICE. The solution for a person is a disability pension, you're not...you don't qualify for that, and retirement would just make you crazier-if you're crazy, or make you crazy if you really aren't."

"Solutions for me?" Nike asked.

"We've got to figure out how to either fully integrate your 142 and 146 halves, or separate them completely." He said, "Without giving you massive brain-damage in the process."

"Which means you need the tech-specs on my processors, which is the one piece of info nobody bothered to install with the rest of the data." Nike said.

"Bingo. We need a design schematic for your processor cores, you've already GOT the programming language." Binkley said, "Which means you can share it out if you need to...but without the hardware, and at least a comprehensive data-map of how it works, we've got shit to work with that isn't dangerously experimental to you...which leads me back to asking what I was asking earlier-did anyone on the development team leave a treasure-map in your programming notes? Something we MIGHT be able to use to locate a stash of data on how to FIX you?"

*** * ***

**New Circe, Special Holding, five days after the Core Wars Test...**

"He hasn't moved in an hour." Brother Cavil noted. D'Anna, in her cell, nodded, "I know."

Doral was just sitting there, staring through the mesh at the One.

"Aaron?" Cavil walked up to the mesh separating his cell from the aisleway.

"Hi John." Doral finally said.

Cavil recoiled, "DON'T use that name...I hate it." he said.

"So what?" Doral replied, "in a little while, they're going to kill all of us-with great assurance that we can't down-load and resurrect."

"What?" Cavil was surprised.

"That..thing dug it out of me-where the Resurrection fleet is, what your fellow ONes are up to, all of it." Doral said, "If they strap you in, they'll dig out MORE."

Cavil looked worried, "We've got to escape before they can do that!"

"I'm working on it." Doral said. "I'm working on it hard."

The truth was, Doral was working on an escape plan... it would be necessary to get out of his cell, after all, in order to kill the Ones after the Colonials and their Star League allies destroyed the Resurrection ship.

unseen by the others, Hyde crouched in his mind, and smiled, a smile lined with perfect, ivory fangs that touched deep black eyes. We have to get out, before we can kill more of them...

*** * ***

**New Circe Shipyard...**

"The vote was five to four...Nike stays disconnected until her issues are either resolved, or they are forced to junk her." Nordenskjold said, adding, "You could try an appeal, Alan."

Alan Gibson pounded a bulkhead with his fist. "Dammit."

"Hey, I voted to put her back in as-is...so did the other SLDF officers on the panel, with the exception of Commodore Hartwood and Doctor Morrison. it was those two and the Colonials..."

"What happens to my people?" Alan asked.

"Binkley's staying on with Project Spook, they're transferring him to Intel Analysis Technical, Devin's been slotted shore-duty with the Yard, so she's staying here, Sarah and you are going to be reporting to the SLS Olympian as part of the shakedown crew-it's not an independent command, but you can use the time as an XO to sharpen your command skills."

"Who's telling Nike about this?" Alan asked.

Nordenskjold cocked an eyebrow, "Doctor Baltar's delivering the news right now."

"And her body?" He asked.

"Like I said, the refit's still on-it takes more than a recommendation by the oversight board to stop it with the funding already approved-which may be a way to get your Appeal heard by Admiral McEvedy's staff. Past that, you'd have to deal with the highest levels of government to get her put back on active duty." she stopped, "I'll help you with the Appeal, so will most of the SLDF officers on the Oversight board, but you're going to have to be patient, Alan."

*** * ***

**Shift Change, 0300 hours local time, special detention...**

Doral smiled wide and jumped to his feet. "wakey wakey." he said.

What happened next probably ought to be recorded in the annals of why you don't get complacent guarding Cylon prisoners.

He grabbed the mesh, ignoring the electrical 'get back' current, and ripped it with the kind of strength sometimes recorded in urban legends (Grandma picked up the groundcar strength.)

sparks flew, and the alarms went off, as he smashed into the glazing with the bed, starring the safety-plas, then cracking it...then breaking it.

"Doral?" D'anna was stunned. This wasn't even theoretically possible.

Aaron stepped through...and Hyde smiled at her. "Honey, you look terrible, After I'm done, let's grab a quick ******. "

He turned and forced Cavil's cell open first. "John..."

Cavil looked at him, and stared as Aaron's 'projection' crashed into his own.

"We're going to have a good time together...later." Doral said, "Right now, we're escaping."

"How do you plan to get past the guards?" Cavil asked.

"THAT part's easy." Doral stepped forward-impossibly fast, and waved his hand in front of the other Cylon.

Cavil went to his knees, looking shocked, and grabbed his throat, as blood welled up and fountained out.

"See? Fun." Hyde said.

He looked over at D'anna. "D'Anna...snoopy, snippy D'Anna, you know, I really think you never used your best asset. Let me show you..."

Guards on the reaction team rounded the corner a few seconds later...

reacting to the Three's screams and pleas for help.

Soldiers are soldiers in all places and at all times, and these saw the Five committing an act that, for the family men among them, was abhorrent in the extreme...

They did the natural thing-they shot him, and hauled the body off of her.

"Somebody get a ****** MEDIC in here!" Corporal Harvey shouted, then turned to her, "You...oh, god..."

"WHY DID HE DO THAT TO ME??!" D'Anna Biers was crying, and trying to hold herself. "WHY??"

The feeling of violation would never, ever, go away.

*** * ***

**New Circe Shipyard, core containment section, Techical Intelligence Division...**

Nike replayed the morning's events.

"I didn't put anything in there that wasn't already there." Nike said, as the guards put down 'Doral' in the midst of sexually assaulting the prisoner D'Anna Biers.

"You're saying he was already a rapist and a murderer?" Dr. Baltar fumed.

"I'm saying he already had it in him. I...we...unlocked a lot of potentials that whoever laid down his programming locked up, apparently too many, and without enough understanding." Nike said.

"You turned him into an unstable psychopath." Binkley wasn't any happier with her, than the Colonial computer scientist.

"I didn't know? the memories I unlocked from his time on Picon didn't show ANY solid inclination for this." Nike insisted.

"Run 'em." Binkley said, "On the displays. NOW."

Nike ran the files.

"Jesus Christ, Nike!" Binkley erupted as the sequences ran. "You mean to tell me, you couldn't define the difference between an abusive relationship, and a normal one?"

"HE thought he loved her." Nike said.

"You have a LOT to learn, Nike." Baltar said, "Gods...I'm going to be sick."

*** * ***

**Infirmary, Special Detention, New Circe...  
**  
D'Anna Biers shivered in the corner, traumatized. Doctor Aubrey, a civilian who'd already served her time in the military for the Clan looked her over carefully, then gave her a paper cup loaded with a mild sedative.

"I don't understand..." D'Anna said, "HOW could he do that? to ME?" she was weeping and shivering.

Dr. Aubrey stepped aside with the Chief of the Guard. "She's going to need serious counseling after this, you need to post a suicide watch, and don't leave her by herself...god, don't leave her alone. If she makes it through the next seventy two hours, she might be able to make it through, but we're in red-phase in this sort of situation. she's vulnerable and probably going to be pretty fragile mentally for a while." she paused, and went to check on her patient.

the Cylon was a wreck-like most victims of this sort of assault.

"Do you want to talk to a chaplain?" Aubrey asked.

"We only have one god." D'Anna replied.

"Okay, so I'll call in one of ours, instead of one of the Colonial's." Aubrey assured her, "They're good at helping people deal with this kind of CRIME. she'll help you get through it."

*** * ***

**Resurrection ship...**

There was no warning, really.

"Honey, I'm HOME." he wasn't Aaron Doral anymore, he was Aaron Hyde, and he was finally free.

A six came around the corner. "Doral?" So he shot her, and said, "Too blonde. Where's Cavil?"

She gasped and stared in shock at him.

"oh well..." he put the pistol in his pocket, and strode out of the chamber.

Another Doral rounded a corner ahead, "What are you doing?" This five wasn't free...

"Check This out." Hyde said, and grabbed his likeness, dragging him into his projection.

"Absolute freedom, do anything, we can do anything we want!!"

Surprisingly, the other doral struggled free, and, with a horrified expression, he ran.

"Okay, dinner then." Hyde sprinted the other Five down, and slammed his head into the wall. after all, it wouldn't matter-it wasn't like the death was permanent...

"we can fix THAT though..."

*** * ***

**Pegasus...**

"You should probably put out a hull inspection, Commander." Mai Pham said.

"Why?" Lee asked.

"It's a trap, right? how do you know when or where to spring a trap?" the Kowloonese civilian asked.

Lee Adama hesitated, then, "FRAK, you're right." He said.

_Half an hour later..._

The device was hardly big enough to be noticed. In fact, it would have gone un-detected ordinarily...But the Colonials had seen resurrection relays before.

"They hid it by shooting it at us-one of their missiles wasn't a missile...we found six more along the same line of attack." Chief Laird said, stacking the other six devices on the work-bench.

He looked over at the Civilian, "How did you know they were tracking us?" he asked.

She shrugged, "I didn't-but it seemed to be a pretty logical stunt-you guys have artificial gravity systems and no-point fast-jump engines with a pretty amazing range. Small FTL signal devices seemed to fit right into that, and if I had the tech, and I wanted to follow a competitor, that's how I would do it...hell, I just figured they had one of your 'grav plates' tuned to send out a pulse-Gravity doesn't follow speed-of-light rules. Get a modulated pulse, and a detector could track anything 'pulsing' on the right freqs."

Laird, and Adama looked at her with somewhat surprised expressions. "You know, I never thought about that." Laird said.

"They must've." she commented, "Of course, that depends on what's in the guts of these. They probably used a missile's casing with a buffer and a dispersion charge-like a chopper dropping seizmics to cover an area on a perimeter-it comes in looking like a missile, maybe they used more than one to get through your bubble of flak, but once it's on the hull..."

"once it's on the hull, they know where we're going after we jump." Lee said.

"Bingo. Triangulate the source of the signal and you get azimuth and elevation." Mai said, "Simple enough, if you've got the transmitters to do it and the detectors to hear it."

"We need to do something about these-and Laird, take a bigger crew to search the hull-do it by sections...but not here." Lee said, "I want to make dead certain we've got all of them."

"What then?" Peter Laird asked.

"Once we're sure, we'll send them on a set of grocery errands." Lee told him, "Set them chasing the signals everywhere...but where we are."

*** * ***

**New Circe Shipyard...**

"...get this straight-this happened, because YOUR artificial intelligence didn't understand the difference between a healthy, normal relationship, and a psychotic stalker?" William Adama demanded.

"That sums it up pretty well." Binkley said, "Even your Doctor Baltar agrees with that assessment."

"Baltar's...not the most ringing endorsement you could have brought up, Mister Binkley." the Admiral said.

Binkley pulled himself up to his most intimidating five-foot-four, and said, "Sir, everyone blames the gear-whatever the gear is, even an AI computer that's been sitting on the edge of crazy for three centuries in isolation-but I was supposed to be monitoring the test. Ultimately, it's my fault, sir... I'm the guy who did the lions share of setting up the testing, and I didn't know what the hell I was doing, Sir-I didn't stop to think that just because a thing could be done, that it should be done. NOW, we've got a security breach because I screwed up."

"We told you to go ahead with the test." Nordenskjold interrupted.

"Just following orders is not an excuse, ma'am." Binkley stated, "I could have thought it through and refused, or taken additional measures, or dug a little deeper into what was sitting in that bravo-core's programming."

"Your sense of responsibility is admirable-but misplaced. Yes, there are 'could haves' and 'should haves' all around, Mister Binkley, but the ultimate responsibility for this outcome lies with-"

"ME." Binkley insisted. "I was running the test, I didn't take adequate precautions, or even consider WHAT adequate precautions would BE, I was too wrapped up in making it work to consider the outcomes or even WHAT 'it working' would boil down to. I didn't know what my equipment was designed to do, and the result of that is we've lost security containment on New Circe, and we've potentially turned a homicidal sex-maniac loose in a way that will, at minimum, give the Toasters an actual reason to want us all dead."

"Fix your mistake, then." the Major said, "Fix the computer, or make it so that this can't happen some other way."

"What about the girl?" Binkley asked.

"What about her?" Adama countered.

"Something I did hurt someone who wasn't a target. I've got a responsibility to make restitution." Binkley told the board.

"We'll discuss that...later."

*** * ***

**Resurrection ship 5...**

"We've got to make sure He doesn't resurrect." Aaron Stephens was a Five, he'd been 'infiltrated' into the Saggitaron police. "That frakker's a frakking psychopath bastard."

One/John Norton looked at the five, "He's your model."

"So what?" Stephens said, "He might be a version of ME, but he's a version I'd as soon didn't last any longer."

"We can't use Centurions on him, they won't shoot one of us...even him." Six-Gina Weston, said.

"Not if we pull the inhibitors." Aaron told her, "Pull those, and the subroutines against shooting him go away."

"you pull those, and we'll have to deal with THEM killing us, instead of HIM." One asserted, "No, it's too risky."

"Where did he get the gun, is what I want to know." Leoben Simpson had infiltrated Caprica's public works department...

"Storage locker." Sharon said, "Same place he had his clothes...same place WE would get a gun, if he hadn't already made sure we can't get at it...damn I wish I had an EVA suit..."

"If we don't do something useful, he's going to make it down to the Hybrid." the One said.

"Unlock the Centurions, let them do something." Gina urged.

_

* * *

_

**_Note from the Author:_**

_Nike... great warship but not not good at understanding human emotions and motivations_


	25. Chapter 25

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

_

* * *

_

**Fifth Resurrection Fleet – Thirty-Eight Light-Years Rimward of New Circe - August 3046**

According to the information Nike had stripped from the Five's head before he went _completely_ off his rocker the Resurrection Fleet was due to be this close to New Circe at this time and low and behold when the Stealthstar II reconnaissance aircraft jumped in half an AU distant from where the fleet was supposed to be there it was.

The Stealthstar II hadn't even entered service when the second Cylon War broke out and it was a total fluke that _Galactica_ had managed to find this prototype during its expedition back to Cyrannus the previous year. Very few people had known why the original model Stealthstar had been earmarked for retirement so soon after it entered service but to those in the know like the then Commander, now Admiral Adama it was because when one of the supposedly DRADIS invisible aircraft had clandestinely and illegal crossed the Armistice Line into Cylon territory the Toasters _had_ successfully tracked the thing indicating more work was needed to mask its DRADIS signature.

Fitted with a very short range jumpdrive that would generate as minimal a jump signature as possible the Stealthstar II, with viper-pilot Louanne Katraine at the controls, started doing passive sensor sweeps to get an idea of where exactly all the Cylon ships were, or rather where they had been four minutes earlier given the time taken for the image to arrive at the sluggish speed of light. Her FTL was still spun up but it was a very bad idea to jump again without giving the drive a few minutes grace and Kat took the opportunity to gather as much sensor data as possible while she waited.

There was a very large amount of wireless traffic coming from the Resurrection Ship, far more than you would normally expect from a Cylon ship and Kat recorded everything she could before finally jumping back to her own people.

Onboard the Resurrection Ship chaos reigned. Centurions were inhibited from firing on biocylons so despite the ongoing bloody murderous rampage of the demented Five, who was now armed with a pair of the old machine-pistols carried by Model 005 Centurions in the First Cylon War, the fighting robots ignored him, prevented from taking action by their implanted telencephalic inhibitors.

When the other panicked humanform Cylons eventually lost their nerve and pulled the inhibiters from a number of Centurions they faced a new problem. Even though the machines didn't decide to take some revenge on the biologicals for being basically lobotomised, and they were now perfectly willing to kill the insane Five, even without the inhibitors modern Centurion models weren't very smart and more importantly... they couldn't tell the difference between individual Fives.

With the models concerned themselves dissenting in the extreme the others outvoted the horrified Fives and apologising vociferously to them for the the situation the other humanforms told the Centurions it was weapons-free against the "Dorals".

Thus it was that when the real humans arrived in force not only was there a lunatic cutting a bloody swathe through the Resurrection Ship heading towards the Hybrid there were "innocent" Fives being gunned down all over the place by Centurions with very poor IFF systems. The combination of all of this was that the Hybrid herself was completely freaked and thanks to the networked nature of Cylon systems the Hybrids on the four Basestars escorting the ship were almost as freaked themselves.

When he realised that the Centurions were after him Aaron Doral, AKA "Hyde", found another weapons locker and tucking one of his machine-pistols down the back of his pants he abandoned the other for one of the oversized heavy assault rifles that Centurions sometimes carried themselves. Unlike the machine-pistols this heavy weapon would go right through the chrome idiots he thought joyously. 'Eat lead Toaster!' he cackled, stepping back out into a corridor and firing the weapon into the back of a Centurion he thought was hunting him, the large high-velocity bullets punching through its armour and sending it to the ground.

'Ouch, recoil' Doral complained, 'oh well, no rest for the wicked' he said brightly, resuming his course towards the Hybrid, skipping over the dead Centurion.

A bright flash right in amongst the fleet heralded the arrival of something almost as scary as Doral, but very much larger. The Colonials and Wolverines knew that if the knowledge that the Doral and the Cavil who had escaped reached the other Cylons then New Circe would come under direct attack so they had no choice but to act immediately with only a basic plan of action backed up by a massive quantity of firepower.

Using its new Colonial FTL the _SLS Zughoffer Weir_ jumped right between two basestars which were less than ten kilometres apart and fired a full broadside, twenty Heavy Naval PPC's fired directly at the centre waist section of each one at what amounted to point-blank range.

As both of the basestars were sliced into two neat sections the point-defence guns Zug carried which were once mounted on _Galactica_ began pouring fire at any Raiders or Heavy Raiders in range. Simultaneously squadrons of Kirghiz and Visigoth fighters began pouring out of her flight bays to take on the Cylon fighters.

As the hybrids on the two broken basestars added their screams to those already coming from the one on the Resurrection Ship the other pair of basestars began moving to engage the Earther warship, already firing missiles and scrambling every raider they could to join the CAP they already had out defending the fleet.

Another flash beside one of them quickly changed their priorities however.

'Mr Gaeta, burn that frakking thing' Admiral Adama ordered as _Galactica_ jumped into the battle, already orientated so her new forward battery was aimed the right way.

'Firing HNPPC battery' Gaeta responded, opening up with the eight Heavy Naval Particle Projection Cannon _Galactica_ had obtained in exchange for a hundred of her point-defence guns.

'All weapons free, get our vipers in the air' Adama told his crew as her other guns began pounding the Basestar ahead which was already scorched and burning from the lashing it had taken from the huge directed-energy weapons.

Carrying a full complement of four squadrons of vipers, eighty Mark VII's carrying a laser as well as their three 30mm KEW's, _Galatica_ was no longer the tired old warhorse she had been when the Cylons attacked the Twelve Colonies. Her new forward battery was capable of horrific damage at ranges that would have once been considered unthinkable. All her armour plate was in place, increasing her ability to take punishment, and pulse-laser based Anti Missile Systems dotted her hull ready to shoot down incoming missiles.

'We could have taken all four of these frakkers on our own Sir' Gaeta opined, smiling viciously as he waited for the HNPPC's to indicate they were ready to fire again.

'There's no prizes for playing fair Mr Gaeta' Adama replied.

'Vipers are launched, flight pods nearly fully extended' Gaeta reported. 'The _Zug_ has all her fighters out and they are kicking Toaster ass' he declared. 'She's deploying the assault shuttles, they're heading for the Resurrection Ship'

'Steady Mr Gaeta' Adama chided, too much excitable enthusiasm on the CIC was bad for discipline. 'Launch the Raptors, I don't want our Marines to arrive too late, this is a joint operation' he said.

'Raptors heading out' Gaeta replied more professionally. 'We have incoming missiles, laser AMS systems are engaging automatically' he said.

'Thank the gods for a nice technological edge' Adama responded, allowing himself a smile.

A McKenna Class warship could carry sixteen shuttles up to two-hundred tons apiece as well as her complement of fifty aerospace fighters and with both the warship and her fighter squadrons providing cover the small fleet of shuttles was accelerating towards the Resurrection Ship. Thanks to their previous encounter with one, and all the information they gained from Athena, they knew a great deal about these ships.

Cylons had once boarded _Galactica_ by crashing a Heavy Raider full of Centurions into her, this was much the same kind of operation but on a much larger scale. Already with there minds badly off the game and the Hybrid making even less coherent sense than normal the cylons aboard the Resurrection Ship didn't realise what was happening until the first three of the heavily armoured shuttles launched a salvo of missiles to blast open the external hanger doors for the Heavy Raider bay and then crashed on through to enter the ship.

'Frak me, we're being boarded!' a Six exclaimed watching a video feed from the bay as the first shuttles set down and began to open their doors whilst the others followed them in.

'_Let's move Wolverines_!' Colonel McEvedy howled into the headset of his Nighthawk Powered Armour as the SLDF Heavy Infantry jumped out of the shuttles and found themselves in a firefight with Centurions almost immediately.

Cylon bullets sparked off the Powered Armour suits as the Wolverines opened up with their Mauser 960's, pulse lasers and the occasional grenade being much more effective against the Centurions than the latter's weaponry was against the quarter-metric-ton Nighthawk suits.

McEvedy gunned down a Centurion himself, the fighting soundless in the vacuum of the open bay. '_Nighthawk platoons two, four and six fight your way through to the engine room and take out the FTL, when the Munchkin Marines arrive we'll send them your way in support_' he said. '_First and Third with me, Fifth Platoon help our Marines hold this fucking bay until the Colonials get here then head for wherever the most fighting seems to be happening_' he ordered. As well as the six platoons of Nighthawks belonging to the Army the SLDF Marines had insisted on joining in the fun and the shuttles now landing contained dozens more of their troops in lightly armoured EVA suits.

Raiders were dying in droves as ever although it seemed like the Cylon Heavy Raiders in the fight had been up-armoured yet again requiring several bursts of KEW fire from the vipers to take down and shrugging off shrapnel from the cluster rounds the SLDF fighters were firing.

Plenty of joint training exercises had taught the Colonials and their Wolverine allies how to do this, the more nimble vipers would prevent the sluggish Visigoths and extremely sluggish Kirghiz fighters from being swamped by Raiders getting on their asses and stubbornly staying there whilst the heavily armed and armoured SLDF craft shot down Raider skeet unfortunate enough to be in front of their autocannon by the squadron full and took out the tougher Heavy Raiders with their LRPPC's.

The third of the three salvoes from her forward HNPPC's saw _Galactica_ triumph over the basestar and she turned to direct her full attention at the next which had been flinging missiles at her desperately.

_Zughoffer Weir_ was still blasting the two basestars it had engaged into smaller and smaller chunks with her port and starboard batteries but it turned slightly so that it's less powerful forward guns could assist the Battlestar, Naval Lasers playing over the last Cylon Capital ship still very much in the fight.

Piloting a Viper Mark VII Starbuck got on the tail of what was going to be her fifth kill of the fight, firing bursts of KEW fire into the ass of a Heavy Raider. 'Explode you frakker' she hissed as some of the armour now plating the enemy craft came away under the onslaught.

Her laser indicating it was ready to fire again Starbuck took her shot and burned a hole in the Heavy Raider but the damn thing still kept going. 'Oh frak it' she said and shot a Lighting-Javelin right up its tail-pipe before jinking hard right to avoid any debris that she might run into otherwise.

The back half of the Heavy Raider was blown off and for a moment Starbuck watched as a Cylon pilot was sucked into space not wearing a helmet. 'Oh you won't like it where you come back to life' Starbuck said with a chuckle as she spotted a Raider that was just _begging_ to die.

Doral could guess what was going on and it all made his life much easier as he headed towards the Hybrid chamber. The Centurions were far too busy getting shot up by the damn Earthers and their high-tech weaponry to worry about one psychopathic Five.

Interesting people the Earthers, Doral thought to himself as he kneecapped an Eight, the heavy bullet blowing her whole lower-leg off. They had developed such innovative military technologies, such magnificent ways to kill and torture you, such wonderfully sick and twisted AI's to mess with your mind. Doral kicked the screaming Eight now writhing on the floor in the head to shut her up then took a peek around the next corner finding one of his brothers cowering there. 'Get up you snivelling little shit' he told the other Five, 'I'm ashamed to be from the same production run' he told him before absent-mindedly putting two holes through his chest. 'Oh goody, nearly there' he said gleefully.

The Powered Armour suited SLDF Infantry pounded down the corridors laying waste to any resistance they came across, either Centurions or biocylons. Surprised by a Centurion that leaped out and raked deep scratches in his armour with its claws McEvedy dropped his Mauser and to the astonishment of his men he slugged the Centurion on the jaw knocking it backwards and then body-slammed it against a bulkhead.

The Centurion stumbled giving McEvedy the opportunity to get hold of its head and applying all the force he could he twisted it off as the Cylon struggled to free itself.

'Jesus Christ Sir' a Corporal said to the Colonel as McEvedy dropped the head next to the now fallen Centurion it had belonged to.

'Remind me to come back and collect that to mount on the wall of my office' McEvedy told him, retrieving his rifle. 'Okay it's getting up close and personal now boys and girls' he said, grinning behind his armoured helmet. 'Fix Bayonets' he ordered reaching to his equipment harness, withdrawing his vibro-bayonet and snapping it into place on his Mauser 960.

'Do you think _Sarah_ McEvedy was like him?' one of the wolverines further back down the corridor whispered to his friend as they both fixed bayonets themselves.

'If Khan Sarah McEvedy was like the Colonel it would have been the survivors of the other nineteen clans that would be down here fighting the Toasters right now' the other one replied. 'We'd be living on Strana Mechty with Nicolas Kerensky's head stuck on a pike outside the Great Hall' he opined as they started moving again.

With the Raptors from _Galactica_ bringing reinforcements the EVA suited Colonial and SLDF Marines started to move through the ship following in the wake of the Nighthawks. It would be well worth looking a lot like a Toaster to be able to frak them up like this, a number of the Colonials thought as they saw what a few platoons of Powered Armour had done to the Cylon defenders.

Some of the Centurions had eventually armed themselves with the heavy rifles like Doral had taken for himself and a number of them had slowed the advance towards the FTL drive. Unlike their underpowered built-in weaponry the big rifles could do a lot of damage to a Nighthawk which meant that simply striding through the ship like one the Lords of Kobol ignoring incoming fire was no longer an option for the SLDF soldiers.

A platoon of Colonial Marines caught up and quickly sized up the situation. 'Stand clear' one advised, bringing up an RPG.

'Aren't we trying to take this thing in one piece?' a Marine asked.

'It's a big ship, we don't have to worry about blowing up a few sections of it I'll bet' the one with the RPG replied evenly before firing it down the corridor and blowing the defending cylons down there to scrap.

Doral eventually reached the Hybrid chamber only to be shot just outside at by a pair of panicky Threes who both missed although he didn't, shredding them with his rifle. 'Here's Aaron!' he exclaimed, walking into the chamber pulled the trigger on his rifle, ruthlessly slaughtering the other cylons inside.

The rifle ran dry and he dropped it, pulling his machine-pistol out instead and putting an extra couple of smaller holes in anyone still moving. 'Oh we're going to have some fun' he told the Hybrid who actually seemed to be looking directly at him, her attention on him completely.

Aaron Doral knelt beside the Hybrid and reached down to stroke her cheek. 'You're so pretty' he said. 'And I can unplug you whenever I need you to shut up which is going to be great, so much easier than having to slap you around like you have to with most women when they don't do what they're told' he said. 'Now I just need to go over to the interface over there get my hands wet and download some extra lines of code into you, something that'll go zipping all the way to the Resurrection Hub' he told the Hybrid before bending down to kiss her on the forehead.

Colonel McEvedy had no idea why all the doors leading to the Hybrid Chamber suddenly opened up to clear his route, or why all the Centurion opposition suddenly seemed to vanish, but it was damn convenient and he upped the pace.

Doral got up and walked to the interface, it would take a little while for "Hyde" to work its magic given how slow this connection was but it should be plenty of time, he decided. 'I think I'll bang another Three after I'm done here' he said, he hadn't had enough time to properly try out the last one and it would be unfair to judge the whole line on the performance on an individual.

The sound of heavy metal feet pounding the decks was getting closer. 'Damn, more Centurions with their leashes taken off I'll bet' Doral complained, turning to the Hybrid. 'This was your doing wasn't it?' he asked rhetorically, wagging his finger at her to indicate she had been a bad girl. 'Now all that's going to happen is that I'm going to tell them to leave or I'll shoot you and they will because without that inhibiter those things do love their hybrids' he said sweetly.

It wasn't a Centurion that ran into the room it was something larger and heavier with "Col. McEvedy" painted on the front of it. He found a room full of corpses and a Five pointing a machine-pistol at the Hybrid.

'Got to be ours' McEvedy decided and put a laser burst through the Doral which collapsed next to the Hybrid with a slightly surprised look on its face, its blood dripping into the tub to mix with the fluid the Hybrid was lying in.

The Colonel could swear the Hybrid had a look of gratitude on her face as he walked over, it didn't last long though because he reached down straight away and unceremoniously pulled the plug out of the back of her head. 'This is Colonel McEvedy' he transmitted via his helmet radio, if anyone sees a naked Five getting out of a Resurrection Tank shoot the prick somewhere it won't kill him' he said, not knowing for certain if the technology needed the Hybrid to be plugged in or not but figuring it was good advice just in case.

McEvedy looked around. 'I'm making Brigadier a lot sooner now' he said happily.

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_If in doubt send in the Infantry ;-)  
_


	26. Chapter 26

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**R-5...**

"We've got them...what do we _do with them?_" The number of Cylons just in resurrection tanks exceeded ten thousand alone-not including the fifteen thousand waiting to be reborn in the data-buffers, or the three Hybrids and twenty or so thousand Raiders...

"Only you could make a victory feel like a rout, Horace." Colonel McEvedy commented.

"It's a serious problem, Colonel. There's better than three divisions of combat-personnel we've just, effectively, captured intact, not including the resurrection hardware that can start pumping out MORE of them at a moment's notice-and there's still Mister Psycho somewhere in there, and with only seven distinct genotypes among them, filtering for troublemakers is going to be a pretty...challenging...exerci se...and we're going to have to keep them long-term, unless you've got a magic bullet to make peace...and shit, what about space-lift for the ones we've got surrendering off the destroyed base-stars? We can't put 'em ALL in here-not and maintain any semblance of order. Special Holding's a pretty big place and it won't handle these kind of numbers-that's a hell of a lot of investment for a POW camp."

"...and you think the numbers'll go up." the Colonel said.

"It's inevitable they will, sir. Tech-Intel's going to want a look at the gear and how it works, they're also going to want to examine the Hybrids, the undamaged and still functioning Centurions, the big ones that look like Centurions built 'mech size...and then there's interviewing individuals for intel about their organization." Horace listed off, "AND...there's OUR rules."

"They surrendered, we can't just space 'em as much as the Colonials would like." the Colonel sighed, "and doing THAT would be a logistical nightmare too."

"Right sir-it'd make Camp 26 look like a summer outing with friends." Horace said.

"Refresh my memory?" McEvedy said, "Camp 26 sounds...really familiar."

"Crucifctions." Horace said.

"Oh...yeah, Grade Twelve military history." the Colonel said with a grimace, "We don't want to be acting like the one-seventy-first."

"What's that?" Karl "Helo" Agathon's voice came from behind them, so the Colonel turned around. "Colonel Agathon, I take it _Galactica_ has secured her sector, then..."

"Yeah..what's that about crucifictions?" Helo asked, "You're not going to space ALL of them, are you?"

McEvedy shook his head, "No...it's ancient history-but the event was worth repeating to young potential officer candidates in school-during the Star League Civil war, the Amaris war...the 331st Royals were augmented in the Elbar campaign by the 171st Kowloon Volunteer Infantry. The units broke open a former Brian Castle on Elbar that the Rimjobs had turned into a death-factory. The one-seven-one crucified two thousand guards and staff before they were brought to heel by our ancestors." He paused, "What the Rimjobs had been doing there was an _atrocity_, but the 'Loonies turned around and committed a _War Crime_-not that anyone with sense could blame 'em, but it was effectively a riot, no trials, no tribunals, just a revenge-driven massacre with a breakdown of discipline." He sighed, "Basically a soldier's riot. It's used as an example of 'going too far' under stress."

Horace cleared his throat, "Also as an example of what NOT to do when handling enemy POW's." he amended, "Since their action at Camp 26 stiffened enemy resolve and made Elbar about ten times as bloody as it should have been. That infantry unit took 300% casualties after that-basically burned up three men for every man that was in the initial landing."

"So...if we kill them, we kill them by the book." Helo said quietly.

"IF." McEvedy agreed, "We're playing by rules here...no shortcuts."

"Good."

* * *

**Pegasus... Mess Deck 4.**

"...gravity doesn't _work_ that way...but the misconception's common, even among educated people." Professor Maalmo said, "It propogates at the speed of light-it's just that it took a while before the results of physics experiments were generally accepted regarding the 'speed' of Gravity."

"So, how are they doing it?" Peter Laird asked.

"Well...without knowing the basic theory of how the parts work, we can only make wild-ass guesses." Maalmo said, "and that doesn't solve our problem. Somoene on the Cylon side figured out a way to track our ships after an encounter. Frankly, I'm surprised the Savage figured it out before WE did."

"The 'Savage'? you mean Captain Pham?" Laird asked.

"Yeah." she said, "Like I told Commander Adama, her people are...they're the Hillbillies of the Inner Sphere, Chief. Dirt-poor and mean as hell. Their ONE prominent military unit still turns up as an example of what NOT to do when handling POW's-and that's three hundered years after they did what they did."

"Their food's good." Laird said, keeping his own opinions on that score to himself.

"Good? it's like they season it with molten lava!" Maalmo said.

"It's not that hot...maybe two stars." Laird said, "Out of six."

The Wolverine professor took a careful, careful, bite... "not bad." she said.

"The girls are off-shift." Laird said with a chuckle, "I think Octavian has them doing inventories."

"oh, good..." Professor Maalmo devoured her dinner with gusto.

* * *

**Flight Deck, Pegasus...**

"...jump three times, then dump the crate and haul ass for the rendezvous point, understood?" Sometimes it takes the C.O. of the entire boat to underscore the importance of a mission.

"Understood, sir." The Raptor crew boarded.

Commander Lee Adama turned, facing his deck-chief. "Hopefully, that's all of them, or the Toasters will know we're on to their game." he said

"We went over the hull with a fine-tooth comb, sir, if there's one we missed, it'd have to be VERY well hidden." Peter Laird said.

"Yeah...we get this done, we'll have a pretty decent space-story..."

* * *

**_Three Hours Later... a point of gravitational equilibrium between star systems..._**

"Dradis contact, Raptor Two's calling in, we've found it." Mister Hoshi announced. "She's still derelict-no recent unaccounted for signs of activity."

relieved looks passed around the bridge. "Okay, we're going to need a biohazard team to check out our salvage..."

_Nine Hours later.._

Mai Pham sat in the breifing room, looking at the images and video from the dead carrier.

"Vinton's Flu." she said, and signalled Dao Cu'ong over. "This disease, it's known." she added, "It was a bio-weapon used by the Draconis Combine in the First Succession war. The cure's been around for...oh, two hundered years, but if you've had..wait, you _probably haven't_ had your shots."

"It's known, is it still active?" Lee asked.

"Oh, probably-the Virus is hardened and resistant to vacuum, cold, heat and moisture. If you haven't had your shots, walking around on that hulk without a suit's a death sentence." she said.

Dualla looked...disappointed, as did several of the experts from Clan Wolverine. Lee got a canny look.

"I sense a bargaining position." he said, "You're waiting for an offer."

"Perceptive." Mai said, "It just so happens that I have the formula...somewhere safe. Encrypted of course, your best folks would probably spend hte better part of the next _year_ cracking it, or the Wolverines could try reverse-engineering it...I'm willing to help, but this is a different deal. I help you, you help _me_, we all get something."

"What are your terms?" Maalmo asked, interrupting.

"A favour, to be determined later, and collected no-questions-asked, no hesitations...and I want the guarantee in writing." Mai said.

"a _favour_?" Lee almost scoffed.

"A favour. No Questions, no hesitation, and guaranteed in writing." Mai said, "I get that, and it's legally binding? You get what it took the Federated Suns nearly a century to figure out...and the instructions on how to make enough for your crew...and instructions on how to sanitize the wreck so it can be put back in-service."

"In writing...and legally binding, but you won't define it now." Lee said, "you don't trust us?"

"It's not the government or military of the Colonies I don't trust, it's _everybody_, Commander. This is business. You want to salvage that ship-and it's a damn good prize, well...the price of getting it back in one piece for your use, is a favour, and since governments are...notorious...about forgetting certain kinds and types of debt, I want it as iron-clad as possible."

Lee sighed. _Dad's gonna kill me..._

Maalmo spoke up, "Why just...a favour?" she asked.

Mai turned and looked at the Professor, "Because, professor, it's what you ask for, when you're about to turn a functioning warship over to someone else instead of selling it." she said, "It's a favour for a favour. We give you critical medical data that'll protect your crews and populations, _before_ someone gets sick, and we're _owed_. I'm intending to shift some balances here."

"I can't speak for my government." Lee finally said.

"I'm not _asking_ your government, Commander. I want that favour from YOU." Mai said, adding, "I'd ask the Wolverines, but their credit's still pretty shaky-the 331 deserted with Kerensky, makes them a bad credit risk." Mai said, "on the other hand, YOU were aboard Galactica and Galactica stayed with their civilians-YOUR credit's pretty good, better since you've also managed to get the pirates on this boat back into being Soldiers like they should be." she folded her hands, "But having it in writing helps-I can pass _That_ down to my children if I have to."

"Deal." Lee said, extending his hand. Mai grasped it firmly.

"Dao, fetch my books-all of them." she said, "It's going to take a while...I spread it out pretty well."

* * *

**SLS Kaga/BSG 62 Pegasus...**

The bodies of the crew were...remarkably well preserved in the cold, dry environment, though thanks to the lack of humidity, they were blessedly light-weight, mummified where they died, mostly.

"One of the things you'll understand if you get contact in the Inner Sphere, Major Hoshi, is that while the dead are honored, we don't waste a whole lot of anything." The antivirus was a blocking molecule, the formula hd been almost fiendishly simple, but even the Wolverine Bio expert on the team had been willing to admit that it was the simplicity that would have thrown off research. "Especially high-tech items nobody has the capability to build in quantities anymore."

"Why's that?" the Operations Officer for _Pegasus_ asked.

"They blew it all up in three succession wars." Mai said bluntly, "My grandfather's firm makes lots of money repairing the military factories that remain in existence, but the demand for services, and the need to avoid becoming a target means there's always more demand, than capacity."

"I don't understand-why didn't you stay with that, instead of a risky life as a salvager?" He asked.

"Mostly because Grand-daddy didn't like that I married a California Buddhist Rockjack, and some of it because up until Uncle David decided he wanted to be a soldier, instead of a businessman, I was cut out of the will." Mai told him, "If I'd married a nice Christian boy, there wouldn't have been a problem...but I married...outside that community."

She helped wrap the body of the _Kaga's_ Commanding officer. "You're still a christian, though?" Hoshi asked, "I saw the cross..."

"Oh, god yes. Just not a very good one. Giao will get to choose when she's old enough." Mai said, "For all I know, she might decide to start worshipping _your_ pantheon, or she might decide that god or gods are too big for people, and become an Agnostic like Sam Cu'ong did."

"So...religious freedom works more like the Star League's concepts, than we thought." He said.

"Maybe-I noticed most of the recovery team're Lutherans-that's a form of Christians, and I haven't seen any Jews or Hindus, I suppose they might exist on New Circe..." Mai said, as the clean-up team carried the bodies off the bridge, "It's a big universe, lots of room for people to believe whatever they want to believe in."

She brought up the datasystem's damage-control board. "The only thing you can be _absolutely_ certain of in this universe, is that there's something out there bigger than our minds _can_ concieve." she said, "past that, it's all faith...hello...your source was right-primary plant's registering an imperfection in the main housing, leaky shielding, and bad Magnetics."

"Is it fix-able?" Hoshi asked.

Mai shrugged, "Probably, I'd have to give it a physical inspection, this read-out shows it's probably from a long time operating without maintenance, it could be something simple to correct in the field, or you might have to piggy-back-pack it to the scrappers. The good news, is that the ordinance boards, nav-com, jump-drive and life-support systems only need a fresh dose of coolant and some filter changes."

Professor Maalmo entered the Bridge. "Major, Ms Pham." she said coldly. "Logs?"

"Ready for you to sift, Lt. Commander." Mai said, "Secondaries and auxiliary power systems are on-line."

"And this won't cost me anything?" Maalmo said derisively.

"Not a thing." Mai said too-sweetly, "Gratis, because the work is its own reward...speaking of which, I've got a Fusion bottle to go over, your tech-man's ready or not?"

"Sargeant Leonards is ready." Maalmo acknowledged.

"Well...excellent." Mai departed the bridge, leaving Major Hoshi and professor Maalmo alone with the clean-up crew from _Pegasus_

"You two have been...really, you two hate each other that much?" Hoshi asked.

"Not that...it's just..." Maalmo went over to the console, "disagreements about what happened...why it happened. I didn't think they'd hold a grudge over the Exodus for so long."

"THAT is the origin of the problem?" Hoshi asked.

"Yeah. I mean, other historians of the period who noted the 171 mentioned their people's ability to hold a grudge-but I didn't even _suspect_ how deeply." the Professor said, bringing up the text-data on _Kaga_'s final mission, "Three hundered years is a bit past normal for that."

* * *

**_Engine room..._  
**  
Peter Laird and Sgt. Sean Leonards were waiting for her when she arrived. Mai greeted each of them, then opened three of the tool-boxes transferred from the salvage ship. "you know how to run an X-ray analyzer, Leonards?" Mai asked, passing a hand-held scanner to the Wolverine.

"Primitive model, but yeah, I know how...listen, what you said-that was _wrong_, okay?" Leonards said, accepting the scanner.

"We can settle _that_ account up after the work's done." Mai said dismissively, "Job first, arguments after." She gave the Wolverine a signficant look, "You _can_ keep your head in the work, can't you? If you Can't, you need to get someone in here besides me and the Chief who _can._"

She handed Laird a display. "You're going to watch the monitor, chief-it'll show you micro-fractures on the screen. when you see one, hit the red button to record it, we'll go over the scanner data before anyone suits up to do a physical inside the chamber."

"What happens when we find them?" He asked.

"We analyze the fracturing, and if it's bad enough, we cut the bad section out, mold a patch-plate, and nanopolish it after point-heat-treating." She said, "Hopefully most of the reactor vessel's in good shape and we'll only need to patch a few sections."

"I thought we'd look at the MHD's first." Leonards argued.

"First, you make sure your vessel's good, then you work on the MHD's, then you patch the external shielding." Mai told him, "simple order of things-if the vessel's no good, you won't keep containment even with really GOOD MHD's, you'll just roast the systems and do MORE damage, generally somewhere where that's a bad event to happen."

With that, she floated up, and began scanning her section of the 'donut'.

"How long is this going to take?" Laird asked.

"If we work fast-and-accurate, about twelve hours." Mai told him, "Get comfy, and watch your screens."

_Six hours..._

"Where did you learn to do this?" Laird asked.

"Four years with FedCom Naval branch, and six years living with rockjacks." Mai answered, "lose power out in the belts, and help's weeks away, so you learn to fix the damn generator before you freeze to death or suffocate."

"Good school." Leonards commented, "learn or die...glad I never had to deal with _that_..."

"It's not that bad a life, at least it's not dirt-farming and living in fear of Pirates or slavers." Mai said. "Raids are a big problem out along the edges, units that deserted their Houses to go into business for themselves usually discover they really don't have any capability but their guns, so they steal what they need from others-sometimes stealing the people who can make it work in the process...of course, the Great Houses _try_ to keep a lid on it, but sometimes the guys they send out to hunt them down are just as bad or worse."

"And YOUR world?" Leonards asked.

"If WE catch 'em, we space them. If the FedCom guys catch 'em, they put 'em on trial and imprison them..mostly, Governor Stonecipher hasn't met a pirate yet he's willing to convict though...makes it kind of challenging to believe in rule-of-law when your overlord's taking backhanders from criminals."

"I thought you had a...Duke?" Laird asked, "Not a governor."

"Governor's appointed by the FedCom, Majors don't rule planets, and cousin David's not ready to leave the active service yet." Mai said, "consequently, he's got an appointed regent running the planet while he's out playing soldier with the 26th Lyran Guard." Mai explained, adding, "Theater command thinks a ground-officer's a better choice than a former ship-jockey who's offworld nine months of the year, so..." she gave a one-sides shrug.

"Found it! Leonards, give that spot another pass with the scanner." Laird announced.

Sgt. Leonards brought the hand-held unit back over.

"Oh yeah, I see what you mean about fractures...hell, I think this one would show up in visual on the inside....Leonard, bring it toward the deck about a meter, move slow, let's see how far this extends..."

* * *

**_Note From the Author:_**

_If you want to talk about the story, or address questions to myself or Cannonshop about it, you can do so most readily on Classic Battletech Forums_


	27. Chapter 27

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**New Circe Naval Shipyard, Admin complex...**

Lobbying wasn't getting things going. The problem, Gibson realized, was the recent 'big win' against the Cylons. The project was being back-burnered, which meant he was getting aides instead of Officers, and aides instead of Officials.

He tossed the latest form-letter into a pile, as a knock interrupted his fuming.

"WHAT?" he barked.

Binkley poked his head in. "Sir...I have an idea."

"I thought you were busy carving up Cylon technology." Gibson remarked.

"I thought YOU would be out on the Olympian doing shakedown runs." Binkley countered, "Sir."

"Shakedown's delayed because they need every able officer to handle our POW problem." Alan said, "Except, apparently, me...you...and anyone still attached to Project Spook below the oversight board...which hasn't met lately."

Binkley looked at the stack of form-letters. "You too, huh?" he asked.

"How's our girl?" Gibson asked, "I've been too busy trying to get the appeal through to check on her..."

"She's holding up, at least, so far she is. We've had her cracking Cylon encryptions and translating an assembly language alphabet for Cylon computer systems." Binkley said, "which basically is for her about as challenging as wiping a lunch counter is for you and me. she's bored, the shrinks still won't clear her, and I think even Doctor Baltar's wondering when we're going to shit or get off the pot."

Gibson looked at the form-letters, the copies of the AAR's..."We _asked her to do it._" he said.

"You didn't." Binkley countered, "you thought it was a bad idea hooking her up to that skinjob. _I_ facilitated it."

"I'm her captain, dammit." Gibson said, "I have a responsibility to everyone under my command-including Nike..." he sighed and leaned back in his chair, "Hell, I _gave her the name._"

"Normal methods aren't working." Binkley said, "Maybe it's time to try _ab_normal methods."

"You've got an idea?" Gibson asked.

"Clan Law's still on the books. Trial for possession of her, and the ship." Binkley said, "The Munchkins can't use the treaty as a club if you do it that way, and it's a way around some of the whiney-sues in High Command."

Gibson thought about it..."Get me a lawyer, a good one, to make sure the challenge is worded the right way." He said, "I don't want someone giving me a devil's deal where I get the text, but not the spirit if I win."

*** * ***

**Pegasus...**

Salvage is a tricky business. "...thằng ngốc, what you trying to do, kill shipmates? make big mess??" Mai Pham was upbrading a Pegasus crewman. "You rig _all wrong_,bạn lười biếng ngu ngốc ngây ngô! My _daughter_ does better work, and she a LITTLE KID."

Her grasp of Caprican still wasn't the best, but it was enough that Specialist Gage coloured up with temper in a hurry. Laird, and several of the other deck-gang heard the outburst and came bounce-floating to the area.

"What's going on?" Laird asked.

"This...this half-wit rig structure cable to non-structure support, you get a minor torque and you get recoiling cable and pieces of ship smashing into _your_ ship, screw up docking collars, screw up sensor systems, screw up armour-and that assume no hull breaches."

Laird realized the woman was angry enough that her _english_ had gotten bad.

"Not first CRAP work he do, either." she added angrily. "I spend nine hours yesterday fixing shit his ham-hand put together un-calibrated! I want dirtbag here off-job, or he screw up maybe kill somebody."

she pounded one pressure-suited fist into the other, "Not even first-year _Apprentice_ skill." she added, "Him might be okay sorting fasteners, but he is _shitty_ mechanic. ông không kém làm việc!"

Laird looked at the rigging. "Damn, you're right." he said, the cable was wound around part of the KF boom, and a non-structural projection.

"Dirtbag no take instructions, either." Mai added. "In a professional job, he'd be fired on-site and have to _walk_ home."

Laird turned to Gage, "Get inside Pegasus, go work on Viper Blue seven, you're off this assignment for now, we'll discuss this later." He said.

"But-" Gage started.

Laird made a dismissive gesture, "Just do it, Specialist...you were on the team assigned to rigging _Nike's_ ventral aft cooling fins, this makes two fouls, don't compound it."

He looked up at the rigging job. "How long to fix this?" he asked.

"Half an hour." Mai replied-her sudden language disability vanishing now that the cause was being sent inside. "I need two men who can understand and follow instructions, we can get it re-rigged and tensioned up in half an hour-we can still make deadline."

*** * ***

**Law Offices of Pillar and Brigman, LLC...**

"...standing, but you might find a better chance of getting your desired outcome, if you instead file a Trial of _Grievance_. She's technically a Bondsman, and they've separated her mind from her body-something that falls under 'abuse' and 'torture'." Brigman was a forty-something man with sandy hair and a scar from an encounter with Bandits. "See, if you treat her as equipment, and issue a Trial of _Possession_, that's going to leave YOU having to pay for the refit-the ship and the AI cores would be your personal property, not the State or the Clan's, your man's getting _Captain's_ pay?" He shook his head, "Not enough by a thousandfold. Present her as a sentient being, a _person_. There's precedent for that...and prob'ly more precedents coming what with all those Cylons they've got in detention right now."

"Are you saying you'll take the case?" Sarah asked.

"I'm saying I'll help you research it, your man Gibson's got to present the case as the bondholder and advocate-that's pretty clear in the Law." Brigman said, "The AI might also have to present _her_ case. Nice thing is, she's not technically _in combat_, so they can't put a delay on the trial once the grievance is brought forward-the _Law_ requires immediate resolution in those cases, and failure to answer the grievance is tantamount to acceptance of the plaintiff's claims-which under Clan Law requires that _Surkairede_ be carried out immediately to provide restitution considered adequate by the plaintiff-means that if they just pass it around their Aides, they're admitting guilt and are legally compelled to provide immediate relief as specified by the guy bringing the trial."

*** * ***

**Pegasus...**

"...not frakking _fair_, How in the frak did that civilian get so much pull with the Chief? The _Officers_ even?" Gage fumed. Sokall just kept running her circuit tests on Blue Seven.

"Don't know, don't care." Sokall said, "You screwed up, you got caught screwing up. It's not the first time."

"I'm telling you, things were _better_ under Cain!" Gage insisted.

"You might want to say that a little louder, I don't think they heard that clear on the bridge." Sokall said, "Besides, it's nobody's fault but yours that you can't get laid now that the Toaster in Interrogation's gone." she slid out of the narrow bay, and closed the panel. "Maybe you should grow up a little bit, you know and I know you weren't paying attention to what you were doing-and we're NOT under Cain anymore-you have to keep your head out of your ass now, there's no Fisk or Thorne to cover up for you being a frakking phallus brain."

"You're lucky you're ugly." Gage said.

"Damn right I am...YOU are lucky I'm _patient_, or I'd shove that spanner right up your ass." she said, "Anyway, My Girl says there's going to be an other boxing match-maybe you should get in on that and burn off some of whatever's got your brain tizzying before you get brig-time for fucking something up in a way that they can't fix before it hurts somebody."

*** * ***

**Admin Centre, New Circe Shipyard...**

The brief Sarah brought back was about one centimeter thick, printed on fine-grain cotton-blend paper, and structured neatly, clearly, and without most of the lawyerly jargon of a civil or normal criminal, or even military Justice brief.

Alan opened the cover, and looked at the topsheet.

**Declaration of Trial of Grievance and Refusal**

A demand for Surkai in the matter of the abuse of the Bondsman TQF-142M5D, AKA "SLS Nike"  
Specific Charges as follows:  
Illegal psychological abuse  
Physical separation of mind from body  
Inhumane Experimentation  
Inhumane Imprisonment  
Refusal to allow Bondsman to progress on the Honor Road.

He turned the page, and his eyes almost popped out. "Bloody marvelous..." he muttered. It was a step-by-step description of everything from the beginning of the experiment, through the Board's findings, the incident with the altered Doral/Five, and copies of every form-letter and non-answer, along with detailed cite-references from both the Sharon Agathon case, and Clan Law.

The redress of grievance was clear, concise, and unambiguous.

His heart picked up a beat, as he read the legal terms for the trial-what he would have to deal with (a number of opponents equal to the 'no' votes on the board), bidding practices, and the choice of augmented or un-augmented combat, along with clarifications and statements regarding the legal standing of the Colonial votes (no standing) in determining the number of defenders of the decision.

_I can either choose the means, or the place._ he thought about that...

_Well, I don't think I could take a couple of Marines in hand-to-hand..._ but he felt a reluctance to shoot down fellow pilots...

*** * ***

**Pegasus...**

Giao fingered the bottle, and read the label again. _well, we had it on OUR ship, they've gotta have it here..somewhere._ There weren't any more of the tablets her mother took in it, and it was clear mom was too busy with the job to get it refilled.

_not supposed to touch._ she slipped it back into the space-bag.

_I'll get them for her later..._ she reasoned, _Mom doesn't need any more stress..._

She finished setting the quarters to rights, and sat down to do her schoolwork...

**_Officer's mess..._  
**  
"...traditional to get some of the stresses out, and the crew enjoys watching it." Lee Adama explained.

Mai looked doubtful, "I just cleared medical a couple weeks ago." she noted. Today she seemed...tired. "It could be fun."

"You going to join, or just watch?" Professor Maalmo asked.

Mai looked over at the Wolverine academic. "Depends." she said, "It's been a while since I did any...boxing, and this is western style, not kickboxing, it could be fun to work the rust out." Her joints ached _stop it._ "I'm in." _Maybe the physical activity will help..._

"Tonight, then." Adama said, "now that we've got _Kaga_ rigged and we're ready to head back."

_Three Hours later...Infirmary One..._

"WHAT IS THIS?" Medical Specialist Barnes demanded, holding up the pill-bottle. Giao pulled her head down, looking as guilty as she felt...as she was.

"mom's pills." she said, "Mom's headache pills. She's run out..."

"I don't even know what this stuff is!" Barnes got on the comms, and a few minutes later, the Wolverine medic, a rather attractive redhead named Peters, came down and looked at the pill bottle.

"Hoooo...holy shit. _Headaches?_" she walked over to Giao. "do you know what this is?" she asked, "What this _stuff_ is?"

"It's mom's headache medicine-the AFFC Veterans affairs people leave her a case once a month-I went with dad to pick it up last time, but she ran out."

"headaches...crap." Peters said.

**_Boxing Ring, Gymnasium area, Pegasus..._  
**  
Gage tossed his tags in the bucket, and pointed at Mai Pham.

She looked around, shrugged, and stripped down to a sports-bra and shorts, let them lace on the gloves, and stepped through the ropes into the ring.

Commander Adama went over the rules-they were familiar enough, and the bell rang.

**_Infirmary One..._  
**  
"...so what is it?" Barnes asked.

Peters looked at him, "This stuff has only ONE legitimate use, every other application is either as a nerve-agent, or an illegal narcotic drug that kills the user." he said, "If she's got it legitimately, like the little girl says? she's _dying._"

"Cancer?" Barnes asked.

**_Boxing ring..._  
**  
Everything fell into a tight picture-the specialist's blows were like feathers on top of the aches she was already feeling. He threw an Elbow-and the world slowed-the Commander's voice stretched on outward,trying to stop the fight...

Mai rode the momentum of the blow in a circular motion, bringing her left hand across and low-above the belt, but low-into his lower back-right before impact, she began driving the fist forward, using her hips to accellerate it-the move was illegal in boxing, just like the elbow, but ingrained from years of practicing 'balanced hand' zero-gee combat techniques.

she heard the crunch and the wet popping sound.

Time reasserted itself when Gage screamed.

Medics rushed in, along with security men, "I...I'm Sorry!!" Mai shouted,

They pulled her to the edge of the ring, while the medics hauled Specialist Gage out on a stretcher for emergency surgery-she'd burst his kidney with the blow, and destroyed the glove.

Another fight-doc shined a light in her eyes-just as her legs gave. she tried to curl into the 'safe' position...

The seizures took over.

Professor Maalmo's comms buzzed, as the Specialist threw the same "Elbow" he'd used on Binkley months before. This time, the result was a surprise, and Maalmo watched as the civilian seemed to pirouette-spin like a top-the sound of hte padded glove _popping_ and the six-centimeter lift off the mat told volumes-the move was a martial-arts move, not boxing, and it was a move meant to kill... _Oh shit._ Maalmo thought, answering the call.

_"Professor, we've got a problem with the Kowloonese captain-she's not well...at all."_ Peters' voice squeaked over the com.

"No shit, she just ruptured a man's kidney." she replied, "how the ******?"

The commotion got worse-she saw Mai go _down_.

"She's having a seizure or something, maybe that elbow did something to her head." Maalmo said.

"_Not the elbow-she's been off her meds for, according to her kid, about three days._" Peters informed her.

"Epilepsy?" Maalmo asked.

"_No Ma'am, the meds are PanHaxlNeuroin. It's a controlled substance, only has one legit use. Dosage tells me she may not have a lot of time left._"

"I'll get back to you." Maalmo walked through the crowd like it wasn't there. Pham was still spasming on the mat.

"Commander?" the Professor called out. Lee Adama looked down, "She's sick, we need to get her to Infirmary one right away."

Lee nodded, and signalled two medics. "I just got a call, her kid was caught digging in the pharmacology storage." he said.

"Yeah, the situation's related." Maalmo said, "we'll have to make sure, though."

*** * ***

**Fleet Command, New Circe...**

"...think Franks took a pirate bondsman once, and there's the Agathon precedent." Brigadier VerHoeven of the Third Brigade commented.

"I can't believe you people still use trial-by-combats." Major Gaeta commented, "You're so...civilized otherwise."

"We sometimes run up against places where our traditions don't exactly...meet." the Brigadier said.

"you're going to treat this _seriously_?" Gaeta asked.

"Damn right we will." VerHoeven said, "he's got the legal precedents here-and the law quoted, and to _me_ it looks like a legitimate complaint."

"The Admiral's not going to be happy about that." Gaeta predicted.

"Admiral Adama can be un-happy about it all he wants, Gibson's case is solid-he took her bondsman, he's her bondholder and therefore her legal advocate, the Board overruled his judgement, and everything bad that came after-the psycho Five, the prison break...hell, I could almost argue that she should be put in charge of re-wiring MORE of them for use on the OTHER cylons...but he's right about HIS rights, Her rights, and our responsibilities." the Brigadier stopped walking, "Of course, if he loses, things revert to status-quo."

"IF he loses." Gaeta said.

"At any rate, it's not a concern for the Colonial City State-at least, not a legitimate concern-this is a matter of Wolverine Clan Law, I'll make sure the contest is appropriately balanced, so you might have only what your Admiral regards as 'happy' news to report from this."

*** * ***

**Pegasus, Infirmary 1...**

She was still 'wracking' when they brought her in a full two minutes later.

"How long?" Peters didn't so much ask, as bark the question.

"Two minutes." the lead Medical tech from the boxing ring said.

The duty trauma team were already working on Gage in the surgical theatre.

The girl let out a cry, and Peters didn't even glance back, "Get the KID out of here, NOW."

"What's wrong with her?" Barnes asked, "you didn't answer me before."

"I'm really hoping, right now, that it's just withdrawals." Peters said, "I'm hoping goddamned _hard_ she's just a junkie-for the kid's sake. get her prepped for the scanner, after a grand mal like that, she's not going to have much strength."

Barnes and two other orderlies lifted Mai Pham onto a scanning/examination table, and started prepping her for a ride through the scanning imager. "For her _Kid's_ sake?" Barnes asked unbelieving.

"Yeah. The alternative's _worse._ We can do a lot about addiction, people recover from _that_." He said, and hit her with an injection of something from the lethal traumas kit.

**_Twenty minutes later..._  
**  
Professor Maalmo came in as they finished compiling results. "How are they?" she asked.

"Gates has a pretty good constitution, son of a bitch is going to make it when he should've died." Peters reported. "On the other hand..." he handed the results to Maalmo. "I figure she's been stage one for a long time-those're marker damage for early stage two. She's terminal, I'd give her five years, ten tops."

"We can treat this back home, right?" Maalmo asked.

"Maybe. They haven't had a lot of success with stage two when it's come up-too much damage." Peters said, "see here? she's not absorbing endorphins properly, and it's more damage than the Neuroin _could_ do."

"Jesus...she's conscious?" Maalmo asked.

"Yeah. conscious and too exhausted from the seizure to be much in the way of responsive."

"One of you want to tell me what the hell I'm looking at?" Barnes finally demanded.

Mai Pham shouldn't have been able to _speak_, much less move. she sat up. "Oh, shit that was a long one."

"How Long?" Maalmo demanded.

"For what?" Mai countered.

"How long have you been using Neuroin?" the Professor asked.

Mai thought about it. "Two years. They had me on Thraxadrine before that, but it started not working two years ago."

"How long have you been symptomatic?" Peters pressed.

"Ten years." Mai said, "They gave me an early-out from AFFC with a medical pension and prescription drug plan-they thought it was TDS and I would've had shore duty my last year in, but I appealed the diagnosis and the docs at Alarion figured out what I _actually had_."

"Late onset then." Peters commented, "Rare..."

"Late onset of _What??_" Barnes was getting frustrated, "What _is it_?"

"Catastrophic Recessive inherited Neural Degeneration Disorder, also known as Cholmann's Syndrome or Hanoi's Curse." Peters said, "Rare...If I recall the textbook stuff correctly, it hits one in half a billion people."

"Two in my family in less than a century." Mai corrected him, "Dad had it."

"Married a cousin, did he?" Maalmo quipped.

"Probably." Mai allowed, "Nobles...One of the big reasons I married so far _outside_ the usual pool of what granddad thought was appropriate." she sighed, "Dad died screaming...listen, can I have some water?"

"Sure...so, when were you intending to tell your daughter she's going to be an orphan?" Maalmo asked icily.

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Reviews are always welcome :-)  
_


	28. Chapter 28

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Cylon Detention Camp, Island 223, New Circe...**

"...the _Daemon_ did that to him? No wonder..." the Two being interviewed seemed to register little surprise on being told that the "Sick Five" that self-identified as "Hyde" had been twisted by a Star League AI.

"Daemon?" Morris Denton asked.

"Or Manes, or maybe 'Fury' would be a better term." the Leoben said, adding, "I was on one of the base-stars that faced it when it was...intact. I threw up from just the side-scatter off of it's anger." He sighed, "The visions were interesting though...can I meet it?" he asked.

"Why would you want to meet it?" Morris asked.

"Because...because it's changed the flow." Leoben told the psychiatrist, "Before, there was the flow of history, everything that was happening, had happened before, but that...ship? it changed things-it's something _new_."

Morris made a note, "You realize you're not the first Two in here asking about a meeting with the AI from _Nike_, right?"

"Nike? You named her _NIKE_?? YOu don't realize what you have!" Leoben was excited. "She's not some....'lord of Kobol' up there, Doctor. she's a Messenger from God."

"What's the message, in your opinion, Leoben-May I call you Leoben?" Morris asked.

"certainly, though if you're calling all of us Leoben, it might get confusing...as to the message...I don't _know_, that's why I MUST meet her." the Two said.

"The model five that now calls himself 'Hyde' met her-are you sure you would take that risk?" Morris asked.

The Two's expression was...ecstatic. "YES." he said, "It's worth the risk. The fives are...well, they're not very imaginative, they don't adapt well to...revelations that shake up their world-view. It's not impossible that he just couldn't process what was revealed to him, and he went insane....but that's _worth it._" Leoben insisted, "The insight alone changed that Five into something completely different from the entire rest of his model!"

*** * ***

**_Oxford General Hospital, Psychiatric wing..._  
**  
"...can't sleep." D'anna Biers complained. Dr. Elise Washington took notes. "I know he didn't get very far violating me _physically_. but his projection was...strong...and horrible. It was like he was already violating my mind, and it felt like it was going to go on forever."

"He was strangling you while he was doing that?" Dr. Washington asked.

"Yes. inside and outside." D'Anna said, and started weeping. "It was _horrible_."

"What would you do if you saw him again?" the shrink asked.

"I'd kill him." Biers said, "Slowly, so that he could feel what _I_ felt."

"What if I told you what he did was the result of brainwashing by a more powerful AI?" the doctor asked.

"I'd tell you you're a liar." D'Anna said, "That wasn't some programming trick, it wasn't conditioning-it was...it was what he would be _without_ conditioning, it was all from HIM." Her reaction was vicious, venomous in tone, and furious. "I wouldn't blame some machine, no matter HOW clever, for that."

"Has your experience changed anything else?" Dr. Washington asked.

D'Anna's crying stopped. "Yes." she said, "I know what evil is, and it's not from outside of us...EVEN us. What Aaron turned into, it's what WE did, collectively, what he tried to do to me is the Farms, and the chase, and going back on our promise to leave the Colonials alone-they come from the _same place_...and that place is inside of us-that bit of humanity that we pretended not to have...the 'original sin'."

"You've spent a lot of time with Pastor Alicia?" Dr. Washington asked.

"She's helped me to cope." D'Anna said, fingering a crucifix. "She's helped me understand what happened...and why." D'anna rolled over on the couch to look at the psychiatrist, "We're all flawed, no matter how flawless we think we are, but there is a chance to find salvation, and maybe even to have our flaws forgiven." she said, "I find _that_ hope is...better than the alternative. I'd like to think We can become more than we are."

*** * ***

**New Circe Shipyard...**

"...I want in." Nike said.

Gibson shook his head, "Nike, you're basically a brain in a box until we win this-if we win this."

"I don't care, Alan..." she hissed a long, frustrated sigh, "I'm **bored**. For a an Artificial Intelligence, that's not a good thing, it leads to AI catatonia or psychosis, and I'm having a hell of a time forcing my thoughts to interact with the physical world! Much more of this, and I swear, I'll turn into a _calculator_."

"They'll let you watch." Alan said, "but they're not going to let you participate-you're still a bondsman-status, you don't get to participate in a trial until you've been released, and I can't release you without winning this trial."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because if I release you, it invalidates the trial, and we're back to base-square one, but without any leverage." Alan said.

Nike sighed, "Can I at _least_ try to give you some advice?" she asked.

"Sure. THAT's allowed." Gibson said.

"okay... they've posted the defending forces..." she brought up a screen. "We'll start with your initial move, and work up counters, then counters to the counters..."

*** * *  
**

**Pegasus...**

With the disruption, it was clear that the rest of the matches would have to be...delayed. Lee headed back to his quarters, and a few minutes later, he emerged in uniform, and headed down to the Infirmary.

"Specialist Gage is going to pull through." Anastasia told him, on her way up to the quarters he'd just left.

"I don't know if that's good or bad." Lee commented somewhat acidly, then stopped. "No...it's good....I take it you're ready to come off-shift, Dee?"

"Well...before all the crazy hit again, I _was_." she said, "In the meantime, you've got Commander-stuff to do. The civilian kid was caught digging in the med-locker-"

"I know. What was she after?" he asked.

"a Drug powerful enough to drop an elephant, apparently." she dropped in beside him, explaining, "it would seem that Mrs. Pham's been hiding a pretty nasty condition, one that requires what the Wolvie doc says is a narcotic powerful enough to be weapons-grade poison."

He stopped. "a _what?_"

she shrugged, "The terms are medical, but apparently it's seriously bad frakking shit." she told him, "anyway, the kid's going to have to be dealt with, and according to Dr. Peters, her mom's in no shape to do the dealing."

*** * ***

**Cyrannus system...**

"There you are..." John said. The Base-star had been mothballed after the war, a hedge against Colonial aggression that was essentially left where it sat as the newer, Hybrid-equipped Base-Stars went on-line.

0919 hadn't been stripped down and recycled yet, mostly because her hull and systems really weren't, at least prior to recent months, thought of as being adequate to re-use, and the semi-biological materials used in modern Base-star design, with their neural-fibre style connections, meant that the old ship's components weren't even considered good for raw materials.

"how things change..." He smiled.

"You want to take it on with _that_?" Six asked.

"Yes. It's perfect...almost. we're going to take _that_ and turn it into..." he showed her in his projection.

"you think it will work?" she asked.

"It had better work. With the loss of the Fifth Resurrection Fleet, it's clear that the Colonials have made good use of their new AI's capabilities." He said, "WE, therefore, have to change our tactics-and on that score, the solutions are obvious-first, we eliminate the weaknesses they're exploiting."

*** * ***

**Pegasus...**

Two mothers in a hospital room.

"...tell your daughter she's going to be an _Orphan._" Professor Helge Maalmo said icily, "I _Presume_ you were waiting to tell her."

Mai accepted a cup of water from an orderly, and powered the bed up to a sitting position. "Professor, until we got out here, Giao wasn't going to be an orphan-Denh wasn't ready to tell her."

"Her father?"

"Yes." Mai said. "We were going to wait for her to be a little bit older, make it a little bit easier on her-I saw my father die when I was five, in a hospital room." she grimaced, "He wasn't...there wasn't a lot of _him_ left besides the body, writhing and screaming." she sighed, "I wanted her to remember more than me in a bed, driven insane by pain that nobody could do anything about."

"Seems to me, that your plan needs some revisions." Maalmo stated bluntly. "How long have you been trying to deal with stage two?"

"About...a day? maybe two?" Mai said, "I should've realized something was wrong when I lost my temper on that specialist."

"No...that part's natural." Commander Adama's voice made both women look up, Lee sat down on a stool. "He'll be fine-well, not 'fine' fine, but once we get him back to fleet medical they can fix him up, the point is he'll live...how are YOU feeling?"

"Hurts...won't stop hurting, so that part's immaterial, I'm weak from the seizures, and somehow, I don't think you've got anything strong enough in the inventory to let me sleep." Mai replied. "How's my daughter?"

"She's been taken back to quarters for now, we've got someone watching her." Lee said.

"Good. Giao's always getting into trouble."

*** * ***

**New Circe system...**

"We're here to put to settlement a judgement on the grievance filed by Captain Alan Gibson on behalf of Warship TQF-142M5D, also known as _SLS Nike_. I think everyone's reviewed the briefs. Defending the decision will be Flight Leader Allison Comstock, prosecution will be by Captain Gibson." The dress uniform itched, and the mask was hot, and a tiny bit hard to breathe in. Brigadier Verhoeven _badly_ wanted to pull the sweaty thing off and scratch. "Terrain will be in the outer-system per the Prosecutor's request, and the defenders have chosen Augmented combat... are your initial bids ready?"

"The decision of the Board will be defended by two _Kirghiz_ and three Colonial Vipers." Comstock said, "In order to honour our allies the Colonial City State, and as acknowledgement of their contribution to the Board's final decision. Proportionally, that allows Captain Gibson to choose three comrades to support his prosecution."

"The prosecution bids one fighter." Alan said, "That's our initial bid, that's all I'm bringing. Me, and my fighter."

Allison turned to him, "THAT is not enough, Captain-jesus, two-on-one _maybe_, but five??"

"It's what I'm taking." Alan said bluntly, "ME."

"You are _not_ doing that to me..." she turned to the Loremaster, "I bid away one Kirghiz, and two of the Vipers, and I'll be the pilot of the Kirghiz!"

"Bids are accepted, unless you want to talk about limits?" the Loremaster asked.

Allison spoke up, "We can't afford to lose good pilots in arguments like this." she said, "Training limits, non-lethals, prosecutor plays aggressor and we have to stop him per standard advanced flight force-on-force rules."

Verhoeven looked at Alan. "are the terms acceptable?"

"Depends, what're we using for a target?" Alan asked, "The non-lethal isn't much of a problem..."

"Welll, you kids got to decide the neighbourhood, and the weapons, and the quantity of weapons, _I_ get to decide the target. Flight Leader Allison, you'll be defending the relay outpost on Moon 3 of the outermost gas-giant in the system. If Captain Gibson scores three hits with any of his prmary weapons on that relay station as recorded by the relay's sensors, he wins, even if you shoot him down-Captain, if the computer on your fighter indicates a shoot-down before you've scored three hits on the relay, you lose the trial."

"Acceptable, Sir." Alan said. _crap, wish I had something faster!_

"Acceptable, Sir." Allison said, _dammit, I was hoping for something that MOVES..._

"Bargained well and done, report to your craft, and get moving, when you're in position to begin your runs, I'll signal and you will then commence with the trial. Good luck to both all of you, and may the best Warrior win, Seyla."

'Seyla."

*** * ***

**New Circe shipyard...**

"....almost done...there." Binkley announced, "Nike, can you _see_ now?"

"Yeah, what'd you do?" NIke asked.

"I did a physical patch through to the monitoring frequency for your Trial." he told her, "You've got the best seat in the house."

"It's not two-way." Nike commented.

"Nope. _that_ would be what's known as 'cheating', it could invalidate your trial in the event that Alan wins...which he will."

*** * ***

**Cylons...**

"Well...next plan?" Six asked, kicking the shipping container full of tracking beacons. Eight looked disappointed, but Two looked thoughtful.

"It would have worked better if we'd kept our distance." Two said, "Next time, we..."

The Hybrid let out a howl that everyone on the base-star heard, and felt.

"Something is wrong on the resurrection ship-" then, "It's..._gone._" Fear cycled through the Cylons aboard.

"Gone? you mean destroyed?" Six asked, unsure and wanting to HEAR it...

"Gone as in...gone." Two confirmed, "missing completely, not on the network...gone."

A pall settled over them. "We need to contact the Hub." Eight said, "We are suddenly VERY alone out here."

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Hope you're enjoying the story._


	29. Chapter 29

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Trial zone...**

People forget things-like that the _Kirghiz_ is an omni-fighter with pod spaces. The moon with the relay station was a beacon as well-warning ships to stay clear of the debris field. Additionally, the magnetic flux from the brown-dwarf 'supergiant' planet nearby was something most pilots considered a problem.

_Well, Nike, time to see if your ideas actually WORK._ he switched on the recent-add-ons, and ran them up to calibrate to the rumble of the gas-giant in the background.

_ECM green...inertial navigation check, Jamming equipment check..._ He plugged the datastik download from the Caspar's tactical simulations in, fired the engines in a controlled burst, and plunged downward, toward the gas-giant on a ten-second burn. The ride would take him around the giant planet, emerging on a course from the direction _opposite_ his starting point.

Meanwhile, the probe he dropped at the start of the burn would head toward the target-moon, sounding on radar, Lidar, and EM resonance like a 100 tonne fighter making a cautious burn along a more traditional route.

The slingshot-skip manuever would have him making his attack pass at considerably higher velocity than the probe...

The atmosphere of the gas-giant rolled out before him like a vast red-orange plain, as he rode down, down, down into the gravity well, building velocity without burning fuel, hidden in the magnetic field. ONLY a direct visual observation at this range would spot him-a one in a million chance.

Inertial nav systems, eyeball observation, and the calculations Nike made worked together with first-year navigation tricks-basic Newtonian motion hauled him into a super-fast low orbit, skimming just outside the top layer of the planet's atmosphere.

_I wonder if they thought of this?_ He mused. The tactic was un-orthodox, but..._Allison's a good tactician. She MUST have guessed I'd have a couple tricks..._

_*** * ***_

**Cylon Shipyard, near Cyrannus system...**

The first step in reconditioning 0919 was the tear-down. plating and parts scavenged from Battlestars destroyed nearby were already stockpiled.

John the Cavil wanted this 'new' ship ferocious in ways that bio-tech simply could not manage, and he wanted it to be able to manuever. The outer hull was pulled off, and structural reinforcements were added from three other mothball base-stars.

Over that, would go the new jacket of improved plating courtesy of the wrecked _Atlantia_ and _Mercury_, still tumbling over Picon.

Inside that coating of improved charged-plate armour, went additional heavy weapons batteries-some Cylon, some Colonial, and a few that John/Cavil designed himself, physically expanded projectile guns based on the main batteries of the Colonial Fleet's battlestars, and missiles.

LOTS of missiles.

"I want to be able to get out and walk on them, I want to shoot _walls_ at the enemy, understand?" he told the 0005's and 0007's. Behind that screen of lighter, smaller missiles, would be the bigger, ship-killer nuclear missiles, basically copies of surface-to-orbit batteries that had entirely failed the Colonies thanks to Cylon cyber-warfare, they were heavier than normal shipboard ordinance, and faster...and just about equivalent to the missiles the Daemon used.

The base-star's engines were augmented with engines from the two 'donor' base-stars, giving it improved thrust performance at a fairly painful fuel cost-which necessitated a bigger fuel bunker, and more Tylium.

Everything about John The Cavil's 'Daemon hunter' Base-star was 'bigger', 'more extreme', and more aggressive.

It had to be-he wasn't going to be relying on normal (failed) Cylon tactics with it.

*** * ***

_**Pegasus  
**  
_"Dradis reports no contacts, Scout Raptors have returned and say the next system's clear." Hoshi reported.

Lee looked over at Dualla, "Deck report?"

"All secured for jump." she said.

"by the numbers...Jump." He ordered.

_discontinuity_

Pegasus flashed into existence in a 'dirty' red-orange dwarf system. "okay, deploy teams to check our external cargo, Red Squadron has CAP, we'll run maintenance checks and services here until this time to-morrow." Lee ordered.

*** * ***

**Trial Area...**

"Watch your sector, Kat." Allison called over.

"Sure, Fatso, I'm watching...what kind of callsign is 'fatso', anyway?" Kat asked. The Colonial ace was genuinely surprised, especially after meeting the Kirghiz pilot who was going to be her flight lead.

"It's what my first Flight-Lead named me in my first unit." Allison said, "I was doing diets all the time." she grinned, "You'll need to learn the Legend of Shaved Dog's Ass to really understand that."

"YOU?...hey, something's pinged on DRADIS." Kat said, "Inbound, high and hot, the DRADIS returns say it's big."

"Huh...not like Gomer to make it easy." Allison mused, "Kat, do a fast pass, check it out, but stay hard-to-hit, bob-and weave, if it's _really_ Gomer, then you yell for back-up, got it?"

"No frakking shit, Fatso-I'm slick, not stupid." Kat replied, punching her throttle.

Allison adjusted her orbit over the relay station, and waited. _Gibson, you're not going to make this easy...so why come in high-and-hot when you don't have the delta-vee to tangle in a turning fight with that Viper? SImple answer is you wouldn't...or you'd count on me knowing you wouldn't, and come in high-and-hot..._

She watched the returns from the batch of short-duration sensors she'd dumped into orbit around the moon, just in case Gibson got cute...

*** * ***

**Nike...**

She watched the monitoring frequencies, and felt a little, tiny, spark of something pleasurable. _He's using my plan._

The high-and-hot approach _couldn't_ be Alan, because, in Nike's view, such an approach was stupid-even assuming the other pilots missed or only hit armour, it would be an instant draw-on to a furball-one that the Kirghiz, with its relatively limited mobility, couldn't hope to win.

She waited...

The Viper detached from orbit, and burned out to 'meet' the contact.

Nike paid attention to the space from the other direction...

And saw something moving, that subdivided into two other somethings.

_Good boy, Alan...make use of them Drones..._

*** * ***

**Binkley...**

"Where the hell is he?" Binkley asked, watching the screen. The time-counter was up to five minutes, and so far, Alan Gibson had yet to make an appearance.

Then the Viper broke off and headed out-system.

"Oh..."

Over the comms...

_"It's a FRAKKING DRONE!!_" the Colonial announced.

Binkley looked at the clock...

"_Multiple contacts...son of of a bitch, who the hell.._"

The Kirghiz turned, and dropped her nose to make a fast burn/orbit around the moon's far side.

Something appeared on sensors coming from just opposite...moving VERY fast.

SEVERAL somethings moving very fast, some breaking off to take the short-route around the bulk of the moon to the relay station, while others continued, skimming close to the surface and...

*** * ***

**Gibson...**

He released the other four drones from his bomb-racks as he finished the skip/slingshot manuever.

At two minutes, the drones' engines lit, and they began their pre-programmed runs.

Alan rode in behind them, staying silent a little while longer...

_Hah. Fatso took the bait!_

He watched the other Kirghiz on the passives as she used a similar manuever to get into an intercept vector against the loudest of the drones...

He waited. _timing is everything..._ the change in mass when he launched the drones had been timed using Nike's simulations, and his passives, so far, showed she'd been right about the _when_ for bomb-release.

The moon loomed as Allison's drive-flares passed only a few thousand kilometers above his cockpit. _estimate her velocity...yeah, she'll have a hell of a time turning around._

He waited a skosh longer, then hit the thrusters, sliding into a very LOW orbit that used the moon's gravity (again) to augment his already considerable speed, right on a path around...

He switched to 'active', blowing past one of her 'soccer ball' sensors-barely missing it by three hundered kilometers.

At 120,000 meters/second, the light went 'green', and he squeezed the triggers, an act against a live target that would have sent a couple of slugs from each wing, while the nose laser 'flashlit' a line right onto the relay...

and he was past it.

Actives showed the Viper was struggling to catch up, as he slashed up and away from the target moon...

As he did so, he played his rear-facing laser on the target....

*** * ***

**Loremaster's position...**

"...innovative." Verhoeven said, watching the attack pass go through. "VERY innovative." He checked the data from the relay site, and cross-referenced it with monitoring gear salted throughout the area.

"Damn Smart move...Okay, kitts, we have a winner."

The panel of officers assembled to bear witness started arguing immediately.

Verhoeven slammed his fist down. "Numbers don't LIE." He said, "Gibson's attack run hit solid-on with both autocannon, and the nose laser, and he did a coup-de-grace with that chaser medium of his."

"But-but those cannons wouldn't do that much damage!" Major Anson, an ordinance officer from a 'mech unit, insisted.

"Not by themselves, but the velocity, combined with their OWN velocity, minus atmosphere, made the rounds go Einsteinian-they'd hit with...significant force." Commodore MacAuliffe, the head of the Olympian Carrier project, announced-"the Particle beam didn't do much more than strafing damage, but those shells're solids, and they'd hit like a couple of rogue planetoids roughly ten to the fifth in size, moving at one-twenty Meters a second-a LOT more power than it'd have in a ground-mount situation-one of those'd blow that relay right down to the bedrock. Two..." he shook his head, "I'd call it a win...I'd be interested to see how he worked out the vectors and timing for his thrust and his shots though-that shit's not IN the standard handbook-we're gonna have to revise a few chapters."

*** * ***

**Nike...**

"Alan's got to blow through what's left of his fuel slowing down." Nike told the gathered techs, scientists, and crew.

"How's that?" one of the Marines asked.

"He's moving WAAAY too fast right now." Nike said.

On the screen, they saw the Kirghiz pull a nose-over, pointing the main engines aft, and begin an overthrust.

"How long for that burn?" Binkley asked.

"To get down to a speed he can dock with a carrier? about ten minutes at overthrust. He's going to be _tired._" James Erjiksson noted, "probably going to need a pick-up when he's dropped below red-line velocity, he's pushed right up to the speeds you'd get from a rogue Comet."

*** * ***

**BSG-75 Galactica...**

"...slow down...slow down...Frak." Admiral Adama turned to Karl Agathon. "He's going too fast, those engines will burn up before he can slow down enough to be recovered."

"You sure?" Karl asked.

"I'm certain." Adama said, "Mister Gaeta, get me a channel to that Wolverine Pilot, NOW."

it took a few seconds...

"Captain Gibson, this is Galactica Actual, do you read me, over?" Adama demanded over the handset.

"_Galactica... Actual, this... is Gibson...Go...ahead...over._" everyone in CIC could hear the strain.

"Your jump drive functioning?" Adama asked, remembering "Over?"

"Affirmative...Galactica Actual...Over." Gibson replied.

"Jump it to the near side of the gas-giant, about five kilometers inside the atmo-can you run those numbers under your current thrust, Over?" Adama asked.

"Affirmative...why?" Gibson asked.

"Because the jump will put you in the gravity well, with atmo working against your surface, while your velocity pulls you away from the planet-it'll be hot, but you'll slow down before you run out of fuel, and you SHOULD end up in a low orbit you can climb out of when you're there." Adama said, "You really should've read the manual on Raptor operations more thoroughly, Gibson. Over."

*** * ***

**Gibson...**

manipulating the jump-computer without help under three g's of strain wasn't much fun...Alan finished inputting the coordinates, crossed his fingers, and pressed the switch...

_Disconinuity_

Everything was shaking, and the temperature-sensors started howling instantly.

He was plowing backwards through a gas-giant's atmosphere, leaving a trail of fire behind, and the weight...

the weight was really putting the g-suit to the test (along with the compensation gear...)

_Oh shit I'mgonnadie..._

all the bars on his temp-scale were red, alarms were sounding and it was difficult to move enough to silence them.

the armour outside _glowed_

It was like being in an oven...no, a kiln...a _Smelter?_ it was hard to breathe...

the shaking eased off, and alert-warnings kept blinking at him, as the blazing fire vanished into hard stars below,and ratcheting bumps against his hull above.

the engines shut down from overheat, and Alan sighed relief that he didn't have any actual ordinance aboard.

Sensors were _down_ for the count, but the violence was over, the pressure and the pain from the thrust, and the gravity, were gone...

I wonder what they're going to start calling me now?

*** * ***

**Five Hours later...**

"...Crazy son of a bitch." Allison said, as the recovery team sprayed coolant on the hull of Gibson's fighter. The heat-scoring had _welded_ the armour shut, the fighter itself was ruined.

A team in Exos with cutting wheels and thermal-reactive armour-damping compound started cutting the canopy open.

As soon as it was open, Gibson tossed his helmet out, and took a long, deep breath.

"Did I win?" he asked.

"Affirmative, you crazy ****** jackass. You're _definitely_ not a Gomer anymore." Allison said, "Unfortunately, I'm still Fatso."

"Hey...what can I say?" Alan said with a shrug, "You fell for it..."

"You've been waiting five years to say that." Allison told him, "Anyway, get scrubbed up, you're buying me dinner."

"How's that again?" Alan asked.

"You wrecked yours before I wrecked mine-and you had to be rescued from a dead fighter. Remember our bet?" she said somewhat saucily.

"right..." Alan groaned, "put me back! I'll drive it home!!"

"No sir, you won't." Sarah strode up to the fighter.... "WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SHIP!?!" she imitated the Deck-chief perfectly. "Christ, Captain, we're gonna have to _write it off._"

"Soorreee.." Alan said sarcastically, "Just knock the dents out...geez."

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Reviews always gratefully received_ :-)


	30. Chapter 30

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Nike, New Circe shipyard...**

To-morrow, the tech-crews would begin moving SLS Nike's core back across the skybridge into her hull. To-Night, most of them were already out, either celebrating, or taking the evening off. So almost nobody was here except Master Chief Devin's security team, and Binkley, when William Adama and Kara Thrace walked in.

"I want to talk to the computer." Adama said bluntly.

Binkley looked up from the console. "Say again, Sir?"

Adama looked over the wolverine tech-officer's shoulder at what he was playing with-it was a rendering of some monster from a mythology. "I said, I want to talk to your computer, the AI, Nike." He said.

Binkley shrugged, "So talk, she can hear you."

"Doesn't mean I'll answer him." Nike said. Her holostage lit up, and her avatar, all twelve inches of it, appeared to be sitting in a recliner. "Nevermind, it's got to be better than trying to simulate having a beer...what DO you people like this stuff for anyway?"

"Nike, be nice." Binkley said, "admiral?"

"You gave Gibson some help on planning his attack." the Admiral said bluntly.

"Um...maybe?" Nike answered, "I ran a bunch of simulations based on what he thought would work..."

"You almost got him frakking killed." Adama scolded.

"Brilliant use of Physics, exciting fast pass...no exit strategy." Kara Thrace contributed, "Looked a lot like the data on your last fight...including the damage."

"Tech-data said the fighter could handle it." Nike countered.

"Tech-Data was _wrong_." Kara dropped down into the chair next to Binkley, "Which an experienced _human_ pilot would have understood."

"I'll give the point." Nike said, "The plan ran close to the edge."

"The plan ran OVER the edge. You banked a man's life today on best outcomes." Adama scolded, "Equipment is...not always built to best outcomes. especially military equipment, you didn't leave enough margin of safety. You're going to be providing a _Human Crew_ with tactical advice, probably handling tactical situations again-against a real enemy."

"I ran 1,674 simulations on that mission!" Nike barked back.

"How many times did he go winging off into deep space because nobody could catch up with him?" Starbuck asked.

Nike was silent..."I had a plan to get him back if that happened." She said sulkily.

Adama scoffed, "Nike, how were you intending to _execute_ that plan?"

'I can show you-" Nike started.

"The question was rhetorical, Nike." Binkley interjected.

Adama gave him a look, then said, "Put it on storage media, I'll review it later."

"So you docked _just_ to come chew my ass?" Nike asked.

"not entirely." Kara Thrace said, "I wanted to see the thing that has half the city state screaming bloody murder. You _really_ scrambled the brain on a Skinjob?"

"Yeah, it wasn't intentional." Nike said, "Well...some of it was, what he turned into wasn't. I was just trying to...de-program him. I didn't realize I'd turned a bureaucrat into a psychopath."

"You don't know people very well, do you?" Starbuck asked.

"I'm learning." Nike replied.

"Learn Faster." Adama told her, "You're going to be having people relying on you not to...risk their lives un-necessarily...anyway, I came in here to find out if I was right-and I did...so now that I know I'm right, you owe me."

"Excuse me?" Nike looked up.

"You owe me-I saved your Captain's ass." Adama said.

"What do you want?" Nike asked.

"I'll tell you when it's time to collect." the Admiral said grimly.

*** * ***

**The Wingman's Bar...New Circe shipyard...**

Every Wolverine pilot in the bar was singing...  
_  
"...piss on your seat,  
and blame it on a leak.  
Oh wait gotta think of something else that's the same excuse,  
That-I-USED-last WEEEEK,_

'cause I'm a PIlooot, I only Care about MEEE,  
I dont give a ****** if I bring your ship back,  
code two or code three-ee-ee

Yeah I'm a Pilot,  
and I NEVER make mista-aaa-akes,  
I take the credit, if it ain't broken, I blame you if it brea-aa-aks!..."

There was a LOT of beer flowing. Kat listened to the song, figured out what they were saying, and started laughing.

"What?" Margaret Edmondson, AKA 'Racetrack' asked.

"It's frakkin' hilarious." she said, and accepted another frosty of the cold stuff.

"You're not pissed?" Racetrack asked.

"Hades no-look, he out-frakking-sneakied us, an' if he can out-frakkin'-sneaky US, just imagine what he's gonna do to the _Toasters_." she downed half the pint, then set it on the table again, "Besides...that last move was worthy of _Starbuck_ for frakked-up thinking-flying _backward_ out a gas-giant's atmosphere to slow down!"

Hotdog sat down at their table, and poured himself another one. "SInging's hard." he said simply.

"You get that chick's name?" Kat asked.

"wha-? Oh...." he rubbed the lipstick print off. "Yeah...but her boyfriend told me to back off."

The crowd finished with that song, and the bar was filled with conversation while a few musicians fiddled around on stage.

"What about that Wolvie pilot-whatsername, 'Fatso'?" Hot dog asked.

"Don't use it outside the cockpit, Hotdog, and she's not fat...I think she's got a crush on our opponent." Kat said.

Speak of the Furies...

Allison mounted the stage, and thumped the mic. "Hey, this is on..." she said unstably, "I got a song I wanna sing...it's for GOMER!!!"

Laughter. she turned to the guitarist, "you know the Legend?" she asked him quietly.

He nodded.

"I'm gonna Sing th' _Legend_ for Gomer...and for my wingman today, Kat!" she said. She was pretty drunk-Alan had given her a rain-check, and gone off with his Wrench, Sarah...

"He walked into the squadron in the summer of '02  
Since that time we've never been the same  
This wingman who would soon become a legend in time  
He never spoke so no one knew his name  
But after his arrival there was never an empty keg,  
And always a fresh new batch of corn  
The coffee was the best that your lips would ever taste  
And the shitter was always filled with porn

He rode into battle with his back against the sun  
He saved us all for we knew he was the one

His name was Shaved Dog's Ass  
The greatest of wingmen was he  
He only said, "2, lead you're on fire and save the fat one for me"..."

She thrust her chest out, "Yeah, I'm the fat one!" to whoots and hollers from the gathering of intoxicated aviators.

*** * ***

**L'Etteine, New Circe...**

"..wow, snazzy place." Sarah said. They were in one of the fancier restaraunts on New Circe.

the waiter poured wine, and the table was 'good'-far enough from the kitchen and the exit that the ambience wasn't messed up by traffic. Alan was quiet, and dressed/pressed and shiny in his class A formal uniform.

"Food's good." he said.

"I'd have thought you'd take _Allison_ to a place like this." Sarah said.

"You'd be wrong. Allie's...like my sister or something." he said, "same gene-parents. It'd be like _dating_ my sister."

"Ew. yeah..." Sarah said, "I guess that means I'm not meeting your folks anytime soon."

Alan laughed. "Yeah. You?"

"Dad's a mechanic on the continental Transit, mom's a hospital administrator." Sarah said, "I've got four older brothers, and three younger ones. Dad used to joke about me being the mailman's kid, but he takes it back whenever I do something like HE would do...apparently I inherited ALL the mechanical aptitude."

*** * ***

**Pegasus...**

"...Chamalla extract, morpha...and...well, something illegal we confiscated during the last inspection, it's pretty close to what you were taking." Dr. Barnes said, "at least, according to Doc Peters." He handed Mai a shot-glass full of something green-brown. "It's just until we can get you to Fleet Medical."

"how'm i gonna pay for this?" Mai asked.

"Sign here." Lee Adama said, "Just...sign the paperwork"

"never...ugh...sign..smth'in without reading it..." she forced her exhausted hands to hold the folder, only she didn't have enough will to make them grip through the pain and the fatigue.

"Just drink the frakking stuff." Barnes said, "Or I'll have to intubate you."

She sipped from the shot-glass.

"three...two...one..."

The monitors showed increased alpha activity, and she went limp.

"Body's asleep, at least." Barnes said, checking the monitors, "Hopefully that'll help some."

"She's in bad shape." Lee observed.

"yeah. I'd say so-physically exhausted from the seizures, in pain, and the BEST we can do is a coma-cocktail." He put the emptied shot-glass in a hazmat baggie. "that dose put her to sleep-it'd kill you or me at half the strength." He put the hazmat into the disposal bin, "What're you going to do about the kids?"

"Well...we can't leave them without supervision, and the only other adult we recovered is in too bad a shape to pay much attention. for now, we're one jump from New Circe, so we can let it slide until we get there."

*** * ***

**Look what WE brought home!**

The return of the _Pegasus_, and the rescue of civilians, didn't go as un-noticed as it might have in the face of the recent joint task force's victorious operation against the Cylon resurrection fleet.

Far from it.

Decontamination teams, first testing, then using the technique Mai Pham detailed to rid the ship of the last vestiges of the virus hit first, after that, came the Wolverine and Colonial arguments about what salvage would go where...and then, there was the status of the civilians.

They weren't Colonial, they weren't Clan, they couldn't just be put on a ship for home, and nether state was willing to kill them to maintain New Circe's secrets.

*** * *  
**  
**Fleet Medical Review Board...**

"...Cholmann's syndrome, the daughter's clearly recessive, but the degeneration seems to have mutated. Captain Pham's father had it, which normally doesn't happen-usually it jumps generations." Doctor Peters briefed the assembled Scientists.

"Pretty rare one, Cholmann's...I don't _think_ we've had to deal with it." Doctor-Colonel Shaeffer commented, "It could be interesting to look into her for research purposes, see if we can't lick what the Star League couldn't, and the Inner Sphere still _can't_."

"But can we afford to spend the _resources_? You're suggesting serious, heavy-duty medical research into a rare inherited condition-one that maybe one out of half a billion people might have at any given time, and NOBODY has here on New Circe." Dr. Wayland pointed out, "Hell, I doubt we could even TRADE the cure if we FOUND it."

"The alternative, is to whip up a few batches of PanHaxlNeuroin and wait for her to die." Barnes said, "you want to watch somebody die in that kind of pain?"

"How useful is she?" Dr. Corliss asked, "Seriously-we might find it better for the Clan and society to keep her around, or she might be better off getting the sleep that nobody wakes from..."

"She's _already_ pretty much immune to soporifics." Dr. Barnes commented, "I've managed to alleviate SOME symptoms for short periods using concentrated Chamalla mixed with Morpha and a paralytic poison normally used to put animals down by veterinarians-but I'd say based on how often I'm having to up her dosages, she's going to be immune to THAT in a few months."

"What about the kids?" the doctors looked at the doorway. Deck-Chief warrant officer Peter Laird stood there, leaning agianst the door with his arms crossed. "There are children involved. One is already an orphan walking around on a prosthetic leg, the other's carrying the gene for this syndrome...so what about the kids?"

*** * *  
**  
**After-Action Review, Command Centre, New Circe Shipyard...**

Professor Maalmo handed out off-prints. "The _Kaga_ needs only a good decontamination run, and an engineering survey to make sure the repair to her main power-plant's solid, to be put in service _immediately_." she said, "A refit to install Colonial grav-decks and jump-drives is entirely feasable, and would put her into service before December."

"How's that possible? the data-" Rear Admiral Franks began...

"THe data was correct, but we picked up some salvagers under attack by Cylons-_serious_ experts, one of them was instrumental not only in making the hulk safe to enter, but also in doing the repairs...and that's our NEXT problem." Maalmo said, "What to do about the civilians."

"Who are they?" Brigadier McEvedy asked.

"They're _Kowloonese_, sir." Maalmo said, "as in, from the _far_ side of the Inner Sphere...and you're going to love the next bit-their captain? she's a direct line descendent of Thanh Truk Ngo."

"Who?" Franks asked.

The newly-minted Brigadier spoke up, "Thanh Truk Ngo, Colonel Ngo, of the One hundered Seventy First Kowloon Volunteers Regiment, Star League Defense Auxiliaries at Elbar, Rigil Kentaurus, and Caph...as well as acting as shock-troops when the 331st Landed in Montana during the Liberation. General McEvedy's war journal made them out to be some kind of psychotic version of Ghurkas." He put his stylus down, "That about summarize it, Professor?"

"Your scores on my history exams will be updated." Maalmo said, "You _retained_ it. Yeah, it's a good summary. The genetic markers look right, but the kicker is what's wrong with her...do you remember that part from your research paper, Brigadier?"

"Yeah. He was stage one Cholmann's right up to 2779, when he went Stage two and had to be replaced. Kerensky released the 171 about twenty-six months later to return to their homeworld, because they weren't all that manageable without him at the helm-lots of incidents with Rimjob POW's and collaborators."

"SHE just hit stage two." Maalmo said.

"Damn, it's like one of those 'Portents' the Munchkins are always rattling on about." the Brigadier commented, then he looked thoughtful, "She's a direct-line descendent, that mean she's _nobility_, doesn't it? not like disappearing a commoner-she'll be _noticed_ if they don't check back in."

*** * ***

**Nike...**

"...board's got to relent thanks to the trial, and you picked up a couple of votes." Alan said, "It seems that some thinking was going on while we were getting the cold-shoulder."

"Who?" Nike asked.

"Admiral Adama's the big one." Gibson said with some surprise, reading it off the paperwork. "He filed a motion in the event I lost the trial to reverse his vote on your separation-something about how one holds a _Person_ morally accountable, but a _Machine_ is either fixed, or disposed of...apparently, he wants a statement of charges filed against your future budgets and paid out to the Three that was attacked by Hyde in Detention."

Nike considered this. "I think that's _fair._" she said.

"So did the Government." Gibson said with a look of amusement, "You're entitled to a lawyer, if you want to take this to court though."

"Why would I do that?" Nike asked.

"The Victim's asking for a personal meeting." He said.

"What's the problem?" Nike asked.

"She wants to bring a hammer." He told her.

"That could be a problem. I think we'll be satisfied with a fine." Nike said, "If she wants to talk _later_, without the hammer, and we've got time, I'd probably be up to apologies, but I don't think I want to let someone with a legit beef start breaking my gear."

"There's a delegation from the POWs, they'd also like to have a little talk with you...that one looks _creepy_, though-the Twos in particular." Alan told her.

"What about them?" Nike asked.

"A bunch of them think you're some kind of divine messenger." he said, adding, "you know, I never thought I'd be sorting fan mail and hate mail for a warship..."

"you could've just had it digitized." Nike said, "I could probably sort it faster."

"Yeah, but then I'd have no idea what people are trying to send you-and there's always the possibility that someone could try encoding a virus into a bunch of letters." Alan said.

"Oh, my, you're getting _Devious_!" nike said playfully, "Must be Sarah's influence. You two going to be hooking up when we're under-way? 'cause there's regs about that shit..."

He sighed. "Nike, that's none of your business."

"It becomes my business if my Commanding Officer is sleeping with my top Wrench, Sir." Nike said, "especially un-married sleeping-with. Regulation 222R, subsection 31, paragraph nine." she told him.

"Superseded." Alan said with a chuckle, "you need to update your regulations database...I'll get Binkley to grab the revisions for the past three hundered years."

"Oh, I'm SO going to tear into that for inconsistencies!" she said mock-playfully, "I'll bet NOBODY bothered to actually _change the regs_, the social attitudes just shifted..."

he pointed at himself, and said, "Good Lutheran Boy, we're about as stick-in-the-mud as-"

She interrupted him, "Old style Catholic Schoolgirls-notorious for loose morals." she said it primly, "as evidenced by more than a millenia of television broadcast signals."

"THOSE are entertainment." He countered, "You should be able to tell the difference by NOW."

*** * ***

**New Circe Advanced Medical Centre...**

The sensation of the injection two hours ago started to fade...and with it, the dull, throbbing ache. "What was that?" Mai asked.

"Well, after three hundered years, you'd think they'd have something better than synthetic heroin, wouldn't you?" the Doctor told her, "in this case, Neuronal, used for treating spinal injuries, plus a blended cocktail of a few things with names that take up a page and a half in ten point type...feeling better?"

She flexed her hands, "better is relative, I don't feel _worse_." Mai said.

"it's not a cure, but we think it _might_ slow down the progress of the disease, make the other drugs you're taking work longer..." he handed her a bottle of tablets, "For instance, the PanHaxlNeuroin dosage you're on, might actually make it a year before you need to up your prescription."

"I only need five." Mai said, "Then Giao can take care of herself...but I'll appreciate every day I can get." she told him, "Now...what do I owe?"

"Um...I don't handle billing. There are some folks who want to talk to you, and having you spazzing on the floor in agony isn't in their interests." He chose the words carefully, having watched and read the reports on Mai Pham's attitudes-the evasive answer would cause less trouble than telling her that she was, for all intents and purposes, a permanent guest of the State, a prisoner with a light tether. "We're going to want to monitor your progress for a while, before we let you take your kids back." he added sadly.

"Of course-a functional Welfare state..." Mai rolled her eyes, "I assume I'll get an advocate for the Fosterage hearings?"

Doctor Farmer mentally watched his carefully crafted structure of evasions blown away by the razor-like logic of his patient...and her apparent deep cynicism.

"Yes, you will...actually, on that score, there's more complications than is the normal case-the Colonial City State's got a citizen insisting on taking them in-you too."

"Who?" Mai asked.

"Chief Warrant Officer Peter Laird. He's active duty, but since you're a Star League citizen by way of the Lyran Commonwealth and by way of being Kowloonese, your legal status is...well, their status, really, is something being debated."

"I see." Mai said. "Laird's a good man, but he's got responsibilities of his own. I'll be happy to take your drugs, but I'm paying for them, no open debts...and I want to see my daughter."

*** * ***

**Hearing Room Seven...**

"...her natural parents are dead, and there's the language issue." Judge Advocate Stacy Heffernan insisted, "Mister Laird's a serving officer on a military vessel, prone to long-term deployments, Honestly, the court MUST see that placing a minor child with both disabilities, and cultural, not to mention background issues so far removed is not in her best interests."

What the Judge Advocate was skirting around, of course, was the disdain felt by all Wolverines for _any_ crewman of "The Beast".

"Point of order, your honour, if I may?" Romo Lampkin stood up. "The child, hell with it, _Dao Cu'ong_ is thirteen years old, she's apparently capable of self-support, at least, her Merchant Spacer's Union card says she is. She also understands and speaks both Caprican, and English. In a normal custody situation where divorced parents are fighting over her, she would be afforded the right to _choose_, barring severe circumstances. Now, I could go into how many single-parents are currently serving on combat vessels in both Colonial and Star League fleets if you like, including parents with children whom are far _less_ self-sufficient..." he trailed off, "But that isn't the point, is it? Peter Laird isn't serving aboard just _any_ vessel-he's assigned to the _Pegasus_."

He paced a small circle, "and we _all know_ what Admiral Cain did with that ship, don't we?" He stopped, "And that's what this is really about, isn't it Advocate? You look at him, you don't see a man who lost his family, you don't see an engineer who submitted to being dragooned to save another man's family, who swallowed his _pride_ for the sake of someone else, you don't look at him, and see a compassionate, moral human being...you see _Cain_." he peered over his sun-glasses. "Honestly, This hearing shouldn't even be going on. If Laird were assigned to _any other ship_ the matter would have already been decided in his favour."

Lampkin struck the table, "Cain's dead. Her thugs are dead, or dispersed. Peter Laird was her _Victim_, not a perpetrator. He's a good man who's asked to be allowed to do a tough job-let him do that job."

"She's a _Star League Citizen_." Heffernan insisted.

"No, she's a _Lyran_ citizen, more the point, she's _Kowloonese_." Dao Cu'ong couldn't stand being a 'quiet little girl' anymore. she stood up, and leaned on her cane, "Mister Laird's offered me crash-space until I can return the favour, it's a done deal, I go to school, I help out around the quarters, I mind my manners, he gets me what I can't...LEGALLY get until I'm eighteen. It's fair exchange, I'm no Charity case." She said it in perfect Caprican, then, she repeated it in English, "DO you want me to say it in German next?"

"How many languages do you speak?" the Hearing Judge asked.

"Um..." she started counting off, "_Duh_, Viet, of course, German for school, English for business, and Caprican Greek 'cause I have to know what's going on." she leaned forward on the table, "You're NOT putting me in a State Home. I'll run away and jump the first ship going out-even if I have to steal it. I'll be good-but you people have to lay off Mister Laird, he's a good guy."

The only people in the room _not_ taken off guard, were Romo Lampkin, and Peter Laird.

"So...either we place you in Mister Laird's custody, or we'll have a one-girl crime wave?" the Hearing Judge asked.

"bet on it." Dao said, "bet on it."

*** * ***

**_Recess, Judge's chambers..._  
**  
"I can't believe you're going to take that from a child." Heffernan started in.

Percival Sydney Whatworth III doffed his robes and opened his suit jacket. "Don't read much, do you?" he asked.

"_Excuse me?_" Advocate Heffernan was shocked at his flippant comment, and offended by the implied criticism of her character.

"_Kowloonese_." Whatworth said, as if it explained everything.

"I-what??" Heffernan stepped up to the judge's desk. "What has her planet of origin got to do with this?"

"Not Planet, Counsel, _Ethnicity._" Judge Whatworth stated. "Imagine a breeding programme, like ours, now, imagine if instead of building a perfected warrior type with enhanced toughness, agility, and strength, along with aggression and persistence factors, the focus was on only two factors- stubbornness, and intelligence...now run that programme over seven hundered years." He pulled a book off the shelf, and handed it to the Advocate for the State. "They flat out refused to speak english for the Star League and the Rim Worlds Republic." he said, "Even with draconian penalties for NOT speaking english. It wasn't that they didn't know it, it was that they flat out refused to use it."

She looked at the title of the book...

After Action Review, Dinh Diep, 2729: Contributing Factors to the uprising and projections of future problems.

The book was written by George Gordon McEvedy, Colonel, SLDF.

"I found out this hearing was on my docket, it reminded me of something I read, so I went digging into it." the Judge said, "Something _you_ should have done." He nodded to her, "This edition is the 2769 printing, it's got the updated data at that time, after the supposedly 'pacified' population lynched every single Rim Worlds official on-planet with the exception of four men and their families who managed to hide until they could be rescued by OUR forces."

"So? ancient history-" she started, and the Judge stopped her.

"Current history, Nature Plus Nurture, Counselor. I take her threat in there seriously, because I've _studied_ her native culture from the best materials we've got prepping to hear this case. She'll 'be good' if we let Laird have her-which means she won't generate a flap by sneaking into a port somewhere, stealing a shuttle, and possibly creating a public-relations mess for the Government when-not-if we have to shoot her down to keep her from going where she wants to go. She's a _trained Salvager_, that means she can probably override just about any kind of normal lock-out, and based on what our team observed of her and the Pham girl, she can probably do with it with a lot fewer systems operational than you or I could-and she's sure as hell more willing to work without a central computer or jump calculator than one of our pilots is...that leaves me with the choice of either tossing her into prison for the rest of her life on the possibility of her making a runner for it unauthorized, or letting her Foster under Warrant Officer Laird-with whom she's got a deal she's likely to honour."

"You've decided on a ruling...why did you make me go through the hearing, then?" Heffernan demanded, red-faced.

"Because she might've been convinced otherwise." the Judge said, "The city-state's got shit for shit as far as opportunities go, lousy medical care, too many people out of work, and it's a bloody shanty-town clustered around a handfull of grounded ships too broken to repair. I was _hoping_ you'd try harder to sell _Her_ on the advantages of joining the Clan, and less on trying to sell ME on the legalities and social theories."

"So...you're leaving it up to a thirteen year old..." she said.

"If it keeps her out of my court on days I'm doing criminal law? Hell yeah." Judge Whatworth said, "Besides, I got to see Romo Lampkin argue a case, and the client wasn't a scumbag or a Cylon."

"Will it though?" she asked.

"I look at it this way-if she does something in the City-State that's against THEIR laws, she's going to have to face one of THEIR Magistrates, which means it isn't me." He said, "besides, the Service will pick her up at eighteen anyway. Maybe by then, she'll be tired of living in rank poverty."

*** * ***

**Guesthouse Farnsworth, just outside the border of the Colonial City State...**

Professor Maalmo watched Mai pack. "You know it's going to be primitive in there." she said.

Mai stopped, turned, and looked at the Wolverine academic, "I spent a few years in villages, Professor. The job's solid, I'll be working with one of YOUR contractors, and I don't have to fake-a-dodge on a flight physical now that your docs have so _kindly_ suspended my tag." she smiled, "besides, It will be _good_ for Giao to get some surface-time, she's never lived planet-side before, and she's getting to an age where I'm starting to worry she might start ogling a crewmate."

"Still, you're a _Rockjack_, why are you taking a job working as a consultant on a _power plant_?" Maalmo asked.

"Because it beats the hell out of going home to recruit cannon-fodder for you guys." Mai said bluntly, "They'd come you know-I could probably get upwards of forty thousand volunteers just by passing it through the Association."

"You didn't mention that before." Maalmo said.

"I hadn't rejected the idea as vaporware before." Mai countered, "The Colonials, in a couple generations, won't be viable as a culture unless a whole lot of things in their city-state get fixed enough that they aren't relying on..well, on you people to keep it running. Fixing infrastructure is one of the things we Ngos are known for back in the Sphere-it's how my family got to have more money than God, it's how Kowloon's survived being stomped flat by two Interstellar Empires and come back for another fight-as an 'outsider' from an ethnic minority, I feel a certain...duty to help them retain who they are in the face of impossible pressures...as a technician, I'm turned on by the idea of building an industrial base from scratch, and as a Ngo, I see the profit potential a few generations down the line."

"And then, there's the charming Mister Laird..." Maalmo commented.

"Not Pete. He's a great guy, but he's _got_ a wife." Mai said, "She's a nice lady, too. Nervous though...I guess playing running rabbit to robot killers for most of a year kind of has an effect on someone." Mai shouldered the bag, "Anyway, the job's long-term, and I'll only be consulting, so if your lot comes up with a job for me that fits into the schedule, you'll know where I am."

"What about Giao?" Maalmo asked.

"She's mostly home-schooled anyway, it'll be good for her to have to interact with kids who didn't spend their lives in burrows and ships, she might even make more friends than just the one." Mai said calmly, "besides, I'm sure your side of the border has better schools, but _their_ side has a less...refined...civilization . She won't have that 'pod-perfect' look on her that most of your folks do."

"Plus, your lever on the Adamas." Maalmo said.

"Yeah...there is that. Hopefully, I'll never need it." Mai said, "THAT favour should be postponed until long after I'm gone."

"What was it going to be?" the Professor asked, "call it academic curiosity."

"I knew I was running out of drugs, I figured Giao would need a legal guardian. I was going to put her with the Adamas, good people, high moral character, Spacers, and _pull_." Mai told her, "It won't be necessary now, so I can let it be."

*** * ***

**New Circe Shipyard, slip Two...**

"Oh, you are NOT breaking a bottle on me!!" Nike said.

"It's traditional." Alan reminded her.

"For an _initial launch_. This was just a _re-fit_!" She protested.

"We're not _breaking it_ anyway...just having a little toast with the yard guys." Chief Devin said.

Nike thought about this...and answered, "Okay. I can handle that...you guys have the rest of my crew ready then?" she asked.

"Still at replacement depot." Alan said, "You get officially released from the yard on the fifteenth of next month-by then, we'll have mechanics, engineering staff, pilots, and marines ready to board ship."

"How many?" Nike asked.

"Well...you know how many bunks they put in, and how many spaces they converted to pressure-deck already, you _ought_ to be able to calculate the intended crewing for yourself." Alan told her.

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Nike's back ;-)  
_


	31. Chapter 31

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

* * *

**Island 203 Detention Centre...**

The One seemed quite relaxed. "Well, I don't _need_ sleep." he said, "We programmed that failure out of my model."

"You..._programmed_ that out. Your biology's not _that_ different." Cathy Shu said, "You _were_ aware of the physiological impacts of sleep deprivation, weren't you?"

"What physiological impacts?" the One asked.

"Let's start with emotional instability, constant fatigue, depression and other neurochemical disorders." she said, "then move on to the paranoia and eventual schizophrenic episodes."

"I don't have 'em." the One said, "I'm perfectly fine-or at least, as fine as someone can be, trapped in a cage of meat and watery, limited capabilities can be."

"So...you'd really rather you were like your..." she led off.

"Like a Centurion? yes." the One said.

"Why didn't you just...un-do it? make it so your consciousness transfers into a Centurion body, or something similar then?" Shu asked, "After all, according to your own statements, and the equipment we recovrered on your ship, you don't go through _childhood_, so your consciousness had to have already been programmed, right? why not reverse the process?"

He looked away evasively, "Can we change this line of questioning?" he asked.

"Yes, if you'd like...Why did an avowed atheist use a priest as his most common cover identity?" Cathy asked.

"Oh that?" he chuckled, "Irony."

"I see...you've got a different religious and philosophical view than your fellow models, was choosing the role of Priest merely a joke, or did it have a defined military purpose?"

"Well, some of one, some of the other-in Colonial Society, being a member of the Priesthood is kind of like having a back-stage pass. One of my Brothers managed to become the Head Chaplain of the Picon Shipyards. People feel comfortable talking to Priests about things they wouldn't talk to other people about...and pretending to hold a faith I know to be bogus was amusing-kind of a total capper, as it were."

"You didn't need sleep then?" she asked.

"Well...I needed to 'sleep'.." He put his fingers into a 'quote' sign, "to maintain my cover identity, of course-it gave me time to do my planning, go over the day's activities, and send data back by relay to my Brothers."

*** * ***

**Worksite, Colonial City-State...**

Mai looked again at the spec-sheets, and then, at the site. "You've been at this since last october." she observed.

Gordon Ross, the site-supervisor for Keeley and Brohm nodded. "Yeah."

"You've got...three month's worth of work done, since last october." Mai observed again. "Materials are all here-though some of the shielding plates are going to have to be re-polished thanks to weathering, you've got more than enough warm bodies on the payroll, _advanced_ engineering talent, and a budget-bid that translates out to a very lucrative contract for what amounts to a grade-three fusion power plant and steam facility...what the hell, Over?"

"It's...ah...labor difficulty." He said.

"Who's the problem?" Mai asked. "Work slowdowns like this always originate with a 'who'..unless you've had a series of mysterious earthquakes that weren't mentioned in my interview."

"It's got to do with wages." Ross explained, "We've had to lay out a lot of money on training, the firm wants that recouped, the workers...debate the need."

"Oh, no...you aren't...you are." she rolled her eyes, "Do you NOT listen to your own Labour board?"

"It's outside their jurisdiction-" he started.

"Jesus, I thought I was signing up for tech-support, you need a ****** UNION negotiator!" she snapped, "Who's doing the talking for the workmen, and where can I find him?"

"You'll find him locked in the local jail." Ross said, "He was sabotaging the site-"

"Yeah, I'll _bet_." Mai said, "Get him, and his guys out of the pokey, get them down here, we're going to have a sit-down."

"Wait a ****** minute! You were hired-" Ross started.

"I was hired by Mister Keeley to get this site back on track, _Mister_ Ross. Now, I'll expect the Firm filed the charges, so you, as the supervisor on-site, can get them dropped and get those men _here_, I'd expect you also have authority to make deals, so we're going to negotiate a labor contract, and get the god-damned-site finished before the late-charges on the contract eat ALL the profits, and the firm gets socked with _indemnities_ for voiding their portion of said contract."

She gestured at the site, "THIS is un-****** acceptable, no wonder they went looking for outside talent, you've lost nine months on what should have been a six month job, which the damn-stupid Colonials thought would take eighteen months to complete. I want your senior field supervisors, accountants, and the chosen representatives of the local unions out here no later than noon today, or I'm calling _Keeley_ and explaining the facts of life to him, including the sandbagged job-site and the very real possibility of a cross-border legal flap that will crush the Firm's reputation right when something like this should be a damn _Golden Goose_, Savvy white-man?"

"That's HIGHLY irregular!" He reacted like a shave-tail in the face of a Drill Instructor.

Mai wasn't buying in on it. "Damn _right_ it's irregular, I've a mind to report your ass to the authorities in New Circe, with imagery, and to excercise some leverage to make sure you, or any firm associated _with_ you never get another military contract." she showed him something else. "see this number? it's the _Admiral's_ personal coms, you've got until _noon_, mister Ross, after that, I start dialing numbers and talking to people, you'll end up on permanent dole when I'm done."

He looked into her eyes, towering himself up over her in his most intimidating pose...and then, he collapsed. The Bluff worked. "I'll get right on that, ma'am..." he said.

"See that you do. This job should've been finished three months ago, and we should be talking about the next job, not willying around on this one." she said grimly, "I'm going to solve your problem, we'll get this plant built, you'll get your bonus, they get paid, the boss is happy, and your reputation remains intact-this is what my family _does_, Mister Ross. Get me those labor leaders, and the accountants, and we'll get to ****** work."

"What about the training costs?" Ross asked weakly.

"We recoup _those_ by generating new business, Mister Ross, not trying to dry-hump one lousy power plant into a career." She said, "How long have you been out of military service, anyway?"

"fourteen months." he confessed.

"Figures, two year plan?" she asked.

"Yes." he said.

"Should've stayed in longer-your military people are usually smarter than this...hell, even your _reservists_ are usually smarter about how to get civilians to carry the load. You must've been in an admin job to get _this one_."

"My father in law is the other partner." Ross confessed.

"Oh...and he won't mind seeing you fail if it pries you away from his darlin' daughter-sounds like MY dad." Mai said, "Get to work, Mister Ross, I'm going to give you an education on site management that'll help you in a long career of exceeding your honey's daddy's expectations."

Mai followed Ross back to the 'head shed' and watched him closely-managing to 'loom' in spite of being nearly two heads shorter and far, far, smaller.

*** * ***

**Noon, plus ten seconds...**

The Union men brought along their local political leader, a gentleman named Cantrell.

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Cantrell." Mai said.

"You're the one that got the company to drop the charges?" he asked.

"I am. I...explained some facts of life to Mister Ross, and he's generously agreed to allow me to mediate this little labour problem." Mai said, "I've got Keeley's backing on this one, by the way."

"I see...I'm here to Mediate as well." Cantrell said.

"Ah, good. You're a pro in labour negotiating then?" Mai asked.

"I've done some-back on Saggitairon." he said calmly.

"Excellent, it's good to be working with a fellow professional." Mai told him, extending her hand, "Mai Pham, late of Kowloon. Let's see if we can get your people paid and back to work, eh?"

"No tricks?" Cantrell asked suspiciously.

"Some tricks, but nothing you can't overcome." Mai replied, "I _assume_ you're good at contract law, since you're lead bargainer for a collective bargaining unit-aka the Union?"

Cantrell smiled, "I'm a lawyer."

"Well, that's good, 'cause I'm not-I'm just a businesswoman hired as a consultant." Mai said, "mind you, I'm consulting from a position of...some experience."

She broke out the books, and said, "Okay, I want a list of Grievances from both parties, we'll work from minor to major, referencing the old contract and see if we can't amend it to more realistically deal with the problems on-site, after that, we'll start on pay, work-hours, benefits, and industrial insurance arrangements-I'll need the number for some people who can issue and hold Bonds, and we'll square what we can against what can be done. Ideally, both parties should feel one of two ways with an equitable agreement-either both parties think they've beat the other, or both parties feel like they've been lightly screwed over-let's try for the former, rather than the latter, as I was telling mister Ross, I have no intention of turning a six-month power-plant project into a ten-year career..."

_Six hours later...Negotiations are ongoing, but in recess until first light..._

"What is...'industrial insurance?" Ross asked, "Mister Cantrell seemed all excited by that phrase."

"Out in 'Wolverine' New Circe, you've got state-funded disability and state-funded unemployment." Mai explained, "The colonials aren't big enough for that-they're like a lot of places in the Inner Sphere, that stuff's either handled through a private contractor, or not at all. Offer to take care of a man's needs, when he's got no other guarantees, and most men will fall straight into line-so it's a good idea to have what's called 'health insurance' as part of your employment packet when you don't have a functional welfare state to fall back on-like these folks don't, and an Unemployment Insurer helps you, and them out, when there's a slow-down between jobs-it keeps your competitors from rooking the people you just spent all that money to train, but can't afford to keep on the payroll when they're idled. In an environment like this one, it also knocks down the chance of black marketeers getting hooks into your supply chain-people go to the Mob when they can't go anywhere else, taking that away is smart business."

"That was never explained to me..." he said.

"It wasn't explained, because out in New Circe, you don't _need it_." she said, "It would be like teaching business school students to use an abacus in a computer-driven society, or adding machines-it's a relic of the past for your folks, for these folks, it's a to-day reality...so first, we secure an insurer, that means finding a finance guy who's willing to bet on actuarial tables and has the scratch to cover medical costs...you know anybody who's got a few million Star League Dollars lying around, likes to gamble as the House, and is willing to front the scratch on this side of the border?"

"Let me make some calls to some of my friends who graduated business school..." Ross said.

"When you find a guy who's acceptable, I'll teach you the fine art of paycheque deductions-a man who never _sees_ the money never misses it..."

*** * ***

**Office of Liason, Building 212, outside the Colonial City-State...**

"...six months? she really thinks it will only take six months?" Gerard Keeley asked.

"She not only says it should take six months, she gave me the impression that six months is _the routine_ for a project like that." Anthony Ross said, "Though I suspect that's with a lot of short-cuts and an experienced crew."

"Do you believe her?" Keeley asked, "can she do it in six months with those people?"

"Mmm...I don't know." Ross said, "I really don't know. She _did_ come up with something we can use to pressure them in without overtly pressuring them, though."

"The Insurance thing?" Keeley asked, "I've heard of practices like that, risky..."

"It could be a way to recoup some of OUR losses, sir." Ross observed, "not to mention putting capital into the Coffers for the next phase."

"Does she suspect the Firm is a Front?" Keeley asked.

"No, sir, she thinks I'm a two-year combat engineer who married into a management job." Ross told him, "Does she really have the kind of pull she threatened me with?"

"Well... Tony, honestly? she _does_ have an open-favour owed by Lee Adama, I don't know that she hasn't used that to leverage MORE with the colonials-intel doesn't know, but they say given her background and who she's related to? she just might have a LOT of local pull very shortly."

"Should I take steps to damp that?" Ross asked.

"No...not at this time-right now, everything she's doing works out to a step in leveraging them into the Clan with a minimum of actual fuss." Keeley told him, "Just keep playing your role, and keep me updated on her activities."

*** * ***

**SLS Nike...**

_Datastream.... space is never completely silent. The sounds are on the RF band, x-rays, and gamma. she knew this place._

broken hulls drifted, groaning with gamma-burst induced radiation. SLS Ohio, SLS Graf Spee, SLS Baron... the Pharoah and the Sovereign, the Lord Nelson and the Montgomery. Recovery beacons from ejected pilots cried out in the darkness here.

The beacons called, but it was too late for the men. She knew this too.

She drifted. The titan yard was wreckage, broken and spinning. Luna was the same.

("Your Fault. You failed and they all died.")

Swarms of debris...taht resolved into bodies, tumbling in the darkness, frozen.

("you failed.")

In the madness of dream-logic, she could see Earth itself. Bombed out, radioactive from the release of nuclear weapons.

_*** * ***_**Bridge area, SLS Nike**

"She's dreaming again." Binkley said, "Looks like another nightmare."

"How often does this happen?" Karl Agathon was aboard as part of the readiness inspection team.

"Oh, any time she goes down for defrag." Binkley said, "Sometimes they're more active, real gut-twisters, this one's pretty tame."

"Huh...a spaceship that has nightmares...great." Helo said, "How long does she go down for this?"

"About ten hours every couple weeks." Binkley told him, "She can over-ride it if she needs to stay alert, but it's cumulative. Alan said she spent a couple days down once. One of the main duties for the crew being assigned, is to be ready to act if the main system's in defrag and the toasters show up."

*** * ***

**Pre-Processing, Project Spook, New Circe Naval Yard...**

There was a stack of files, and in the next room, a group of selected volunteers.

Alan looked ruefully at the files, then pressed the key that alerted his _New_ Admin/Liason officer to send in the next candidate.

"Sherman Glocester, You've been off the active rolls for a while..." He said. The 'recruit' sat down.

"What makes me good for this position, you're going to ask, right, sir?" Glocester said.

"Exactly. Says here you did your two and two more as a Wrench on the _Longhome_, but you took an early-out on your third enlistment?" Alan folded the file, "What was it?"

Glocester got nervous _quick._ "I'd have thought that'd be in the file, sir."

"I know what the official story is, If I'm going to even _hint_ of consideration to bring you onto my crew, I want to know what you _really_ did." Alan told him.

"You know that freehold place the trade missions stop at? outside the Taurian concordat?" Glocester said.

"Yeah, I've heard of it." Alan agreed. He _had_ heard of it-missions that way were rare, but occasionally occurred.

"Well...I kind of left a couple things there-with a girl." Glocester said, "Nothing big, nothing major, or I'd be dead, but it was enough that they offered me the choice of an early-out when Ma got sick, or a court-martial."

"It says you left a uniform jacket behind with insignia." Alan stated.

"Yeah...I kind of did." Glocester admitted, "also left my PADD there."

"Well...we're not making port anywhere where you can blow OpSec, but it shows a poor attention-to-detail, leaving stuff like that behind. You've been working on freight shuttles for Minnesota Air, is that right?"

"Yeah, that's right... I made shift-lead at the Bravo terminal-second shift, third line." Glocester said, "Then my recall-paperwork showed up."

Alan checked the monitors... "Nike, were you paying attention to that?" he asked.

Nike was freshly rested from the previous day's defrag, which left her a mite crankier than normal. "Yeah. His heart-rate went through the roof when you asked him about what he did, I swear he was going to piss himself-either he's lying up, or he's scared you're going to prefer charges now that you know they weren't." she said.

"Do you think he'll be acceptable?" Alan asked.

"I don't know! He's a human being, my record reading people isn't exceptionally successful, If Sarah likes him well enough, he might be-you should ask _her_...his reviews over the previous four years look okay, the uptime on his shuttles for Minnesota Air is five percent higher than the next comparable crew at their Alpha terminal...He should be fine working the Deck."

Glocester's eyes went wider, "Is that _IT_?" he asked in a half whisper.

"Yes, that's 'IT', I prefer 'Her', or 'Her Grace', or 'her Wonderful majestic Warshipfulness'...the pronoun 'it' has certain connotations I find demeaning, even from an un-tested meatbag with a bad record." Nike scolded.

"NIke, what did I _tell you_ about the racial epithets?" Gibson scolded.

"He started it." Nike replied.

*** * ***

**Saggitairon neighbourhood, Colonial City State, 1900 hours...**

The Union held the vote today, after only two days of negotiations and Ross's seeming mystical ability to find a money-man (or money-men) to back up the insurance clauses by issuing bonds on the open market.

The contract, as negotiated, was acceptable to all parties. Mai felt a tingling suspicion at that, but she let it lie in the warm glow of having done something _right_.

So, when the invitation to a political fund-raiser for Cantrell came up, she accepted. Finding a dress-maker in the City-State wasn't hard, and she found her stipend from the firm was quite sufficient for what she wanted.

"Mom, why're you dressing like _grandma_?" Giao had asked when she put the new clothes on.

"Honey, it's because I'm not a starship captain anymore." Mai explained, "I've got to look like what I _am_ now."

"Grandma?" Giao asked.

"No, like a _Ngo_, honey. When you're older, you'll understand..." Mai explained, "It's got to do with looking _professional_ even in formal places, or informal ones-They're not paying me for being an engineer or designer now, they're paying me to be a negotiator, deal-maker, and executive."

"Oh...like Uncle David was supposed to be." Giao observed.

"Exactly...help me with the pin?" Mai asked.

"Sure mom." Giao stood on one of the Lairds' chairs, and put the gold-and-red flag pin on her mother's lapel, carefully measuring the placement to be _exact_.

"Are we ever going to go home?" Giao asked.

"Hon, I don't know...you might, and when you do, you won't be going home a beggar." Mai said, "Nobody's burden, right?"

"Right." Giao asserted.

*** * ***

**_The fundraiser..._  
**  
"...badgered Ross into letting them out, and she _insisted_ on hearing out their grievances." Cantrell was talking to a middle-aged gentleman with a somewhat 'hard' look, in Mai's opinion, as she walked through the crowd. _the one place in the universe we blend in!_ she thought with some amusement. "There she is! Mai, come here, I want you to meet someone!" Cantrell waved her over.

The tough-guy looked her over with a rather tactful glance, taking in her appearance. _oh, you're a slick one!_

"THis is Tom Zarek, he's on the Quorum, he's the Saggitairon representative, and he's a bit of a national hero." Cantrell said.

Mai extended her hand, and curtsied, "Sir." she said, "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Mrs. Pham, I've heard of you. YOU put a man in the hospital, now you've come down here and brought a corporation to heel." Zarek observed.

"It has been my family's experience that you don't mistreat the people who do your work, Mister Zarek, you cultivate and protect them. Without a strong workforce, nothing gets done and everyone suffers." Mai said, "I did nothing more than bringing a realistic solution to a problem where that solution was not readily apparent to the main actors."

"You've turned some heads on the Quorum, though-the hardliners wanted to call in the military to solve it." Zarek said.

"Counter-productive, which I'm sure you'll agree-getting the power plant running and providing service to the city-state is a much higher priority than busting heads for cosmetic reasons, and I suspect the military has better things to be doing, than sitting on strikers who're only asking for a fair and enforceable deal." Mai told him, "This new contract will help every man who's working that site, and everyone that depends on those men, and getting it on-line ahead of the deadline without further delays will boost my clients' stature, as well as their incomes-by fixing that little hiccup, I probably made another ten to twenty percent in bonuses, it's called 'enlightened self interest'."

He lauhed, "You're a shark." he said.

"Inevitably. I _thought _I was hired to give technical advice, it turns out they needed a labour negotiator and contracts expert _more_...the array of possible ventures off of what we negotiated is truly impressive, Mister Zarek, I think possibly that in a few years, this area may well eclipse most of the outside world in terms of prosperity for those that live and work here-assuming that Government stays safely out of the way and confines itself to enforcing laws equitably, and with a minimum of violent disruptions."

Zarek thought about this, "Guns are power." he pointed out.

"People with MONEY usually can buy more than enough guns." Mai reminded him, "In the Inner Sphere, there are corporations that field security forces on-par with the militaries of smaller nations, one of my family's more prominent customers, Defiance Industries, hires _regiments_ of Battlemechs and aerospace fighters to defend their corporate holdings, another customer named Irian actually maintains a small army of their own-a well equipped, front-line quality force. Money, Mister Zarek, buys the guns, the ammunition, and the training. No revolution has ever succeeded for long without it."

"YOU read my book." Zarek said.

"Not exactly. I've heard of you." Mai said, "Though I never really expected to meet the man behind the rumours."

"I trust not all of them were complimentary." Zarek observed, offering Mai a chair.

"Depends on your point of view. _My_ people are renowned in the Lyran Commonwealth for our stubbornness, at least, where we're known, and we've got a long history of uprisings-a bit like your people are reputed to have." Mai said.

"You're staying in the Caprican sector, though." Zarek observed.

"Well...Mister Laird was kind enough to offer, and he's impressed me with his skill and judgement as a spacer." Mai said, "Besides, he was wise enough to hire a man that would probably be a shark in _any_ court-system when he adopted the daughter of my late Chief Engineer...which shows both a willingness to accept some pretty stiff risks, and the type of character I don't particularly mind my own daughter being exposed to."

"Plus, the power's already on over there." Zarek commented.

"There _is_ that-while _I_ don't mind village-living, Giao's never lived on a planet before now, transitioning from ships and Burrows to houses and open skies is enough of a shock-she didn't really _need_ to experience long-term camping just yet." Mai stated, "She's going to have enough trouble as it is, being foreign and all.."

"So...when the power-plant's finished, what's your next target?" Zarek asked.

"Well..." Mai considered, "I'm thinking that residential housing might be a growth market, once there are utilities to hook up to, and that's going to require core-tools including composite-quarrying machinery, wire-extrusion systems, piping for plumbing, and glassine fabrication-since the start-up costs will be significant, and I'm not all that comfortable going to the government well constantly, that all means I'm going to have to scare up venture capitalists to under-write the industries that you'll need to really make this place a _nice_ place to live...so I'd say we're looking at infrastructural development with private-sector financing and well-written regulations from the Government end, including health and safety requirements for both production/labour, and the products themselves. The best government is nearly invisible, but serves the welfare of the greatest number of its citizens, who decide for themselves how, and how much, prosperity they enjoy...come to think of it, we're going to have to have laws on Credit extension to avoid rip-off artists. Houses are expensive when you're starting out from base-zero, and the market's strongest when you can sell them to the greatest number of people. _that_ means credit-based financing, which has to be closely watched to prevent landlord/serf relationships from developing, and monopolies have to be kept from arising as well...it's good that I met you."

Zarek poured her a drink. "Cantrell thinks so...you're a hard-core capitalist, then?" he asked.

"I'm...moderate for my family, Mister Zarek. Mom was hard-core, she didn't like the idea of government regulating much of anything, she even objected when I showed up for my Nickel in the LCAF."

"Nickel?" he asked.

"Five year term of service, it's mandatory in the Lyran Commonwealth to serve five years in either military or public works-I tested into the Navy as a Navigation specialist with a secondary MOS in engineering systems." she accepted the drink, "That was, of course, some years ago."

"You've got some ambitious ideas." He said.

"The ambition means nothing if it isn't supported, Mister Zarek. any one, or all of what I'm doing can fail if the people decide they don't want or need it..."

*** * ***

**Replacement Depot, Launch minus nine days...**

Master Chief Devin walked down the line of 'recruits' to serve as Nike's Marine complement. For some reason unknown to the volunteers, she was accompanied by a skinny, short, freckle-faced fellow with audiovisual equipment.

"Detail, Atten-Hut." she barked. The assembled volunteers came to the position of attention.

"Gentlemen, some of you will be returning to other assignments, some of you will be released from service entirely, and some of you-a bare few, will recieve your orders assigning you to Project Spook under the Joint Command agreement." Devin had her own ideas about how to conduct the intake interviews. "We're going to decide how that's settled out to-day. THIS, is Ensign Binkley, he is the senior Electronic Warfare officer-that means he talks to the ship, and she talks back to him-nobody ELSE talks back to him except the ship, the Captain, and Me."

The Marines were silent, waiting...some of them were nervous, others confident.

Binkley spoke up, "Nike wants to know how well you function in zero-gee, she wants to observe it."

Devin smiled...and it wasn't a particularly nice smile. "Okay, everyone, we're going out the airlock-last man suited and out the airlock is DQ'ed, When you are dismissed from this formation, you will report to the portside airlock of the SLS Nike, the OUTER side of the airlock. That means you're already suited and already in vacuum. Those that are too late will also be dis-qualified, those whose suits aren't properly rigged will be disqualified, those who forget their combat gear will be disqualified. The ones who turn out best, and fastest, will proceed to the next phase, and scored on completeness and timeliness. Dismissed."

*** * ***

**Admin section, New Circe Shipyard, L-8 days...**

"...surprising what you're doing to your volunteers, Alan." Admiral Franks commented, "The way you're running them all over, a man _might_ think you're training a special operations team, rather than picking from a group of volunteers."

Alan Gibson watched the screens as Devin, Sarah, and Binkley ran their groups through _their_ idea of a 'job interview'.  
"We're making sure we get the best of a bad lot, sir." he said, "It's not like assignment to Nike is a Peach position if you're ambitious about getting promoted. It's going to be hard enough working up esprit 'd Corps without looking like we're desperate."

"You're really intending to wash people out?" Franks asked.

"Already have." Alan said, "We may ship with short-hands, but we'll ****** it ship with a competent crew from the hands we _keep_." he was still watching the screens. "Besides, the ones that wash out are going to talk about it-since we started sending people _away_ my stack of applications has tripled in size."

"I haven't seen any Mun-I mean _Colonials_ out there." Franks commented.

"They aren't applying, and apparently, none of their commanders have anyone they dislike enough to assign to 'volunteer'." Alan answered, "Even with the arse-kicking we've been handing the toasters, and Nike's boiling that Doral's brain, they've got 'cylon under the bed' syndrome _bad_."

"We're thinking about which task-force you'll eventually be assigned to." Franks said, "Since the project's supposedly a joint op, you have any suggestions?"

"Crew up that _Samarkand_ with Munchkins, we can pair with them when it's out of the yard." Alan said, "Seventy-TWO fighters with enough cargo to keep them flying, supplementary guns, and she's quicker than a Battlestar, while fitting the same doctrines and being a hair tougher for her size." Alan said, "add in another corvette to cover the backside, and a group of jump-modded dropships for surface action."

"Okay, so you've been thinking about a year ahead. Any requests for the _immediate_ future?" Franks asked.

Alan turned to him, "JTF is probably going to pair us up with either a couple of Olympians with greenie crews, or the _Beast_, because nobody wants to work with _Pegasus_, and we're low enough on the list that you can _order it._" The statement was just that-a flat statement.

"_That_ isn't set in stone, Captain." Franks said, "but I won't deny that High Command and the Board are considering it as a viable option."

Alan's frown deepened, "It's a viable option...great. just ****** fantastic...Sir, I'd argue against it from two directions-the first being the question of which way you want our guns pointed, and the second being which way you want _their_ guns pointed. Ours because the Beast is still a pariah, and that's going to make some trouble for my people working with them, second because they've got the same cylons-under-the-bed as the rest of the Colonials do, only _Peggy_ has big guns and a crew that could mutiny and go pirate any time. Give me Lee Adama with a crew that's not packed to the gills with Pirates and rapists, and it might be viable, but not Pegasus-the decent guys on that boat aren't the majority, they're barely balanced out against the scumbags, and the rest are too goddamn apathetic to rely on."

"That's right, you did a liason tour with them recently..." Franks said in a 'jotting down notes' tone.

Alan checked the progress on the screens, then turned to the senior officer, "Yes, sir, I did. The Draftees were okay, even that guy they had as Liason wasn't entirely a bad guy-but Sir? Other than the Galactica Transfers and the draftees, there were damn few on that ship I'd be confident to give a gun to and expect to point it at the enemy instead of the nearest civilian...and the rest are so damn brainwashed that they'll shoot _anyone_ someone with a tiny bit more rank ordered them to-they're like ******' robots, sir."

"Funny that analogy from a man who's about to take an AI driven warship out into the black with a green crew." Franks observed.

"Okay, like E-type Caspars, then-just the right code, and they'll shoot their own kids." Alan clarified, "I don't trust 'em not to turn on Commander Adama, or what they'd do if his command staff were out of reach further than I can throw this station in a gravity well. The core of Project Spook is conducting independent operations to shield New Circe from discovery by the Inner Sphere, and to counter the Cylons' moves in the nearby neighbourhood, possibly including potential Cylon contact and recruitment in the near Periphery of the Inner Sphere. That means people and ships assigned to the group need to be trustworthy and have good judgement. The _Record_ shows what kind of Judgement the crew of _Pegasus_ have."

"You're not going to be doing _that_ job immediately, Captain, you're going to need some shake-down missions to work out the bugs first." Franks said.

"Like?" Alan urged.

Franks smiled, "Like a recon and surveillance of that system you found your ship in-or, rather, that your ship found _you_ in, prep for a possible large-scale spacelift of the population-that means you're going to need teams for landing and close-observation of the populace, see what's up and how hard it's going to be to integrate them."

"Survey and Intel work? I'll tell Devin, she can adjust the Marines' training accordingly." Alan said, "When's our mission-date?"

"assuming you get tired of abusing your volunteers, you've got about fifteen days to get underway after Launch-Day." Franks said, "We're already setting up your supplies for it."

Alan nodded, "Sir? I'm still short aviators-I haven't been able to run drills because the number of volunteers still doesn't give me more than about a quarter what I need-especially if we're going to snoop-and-poop on the ground."

Franks frowned, "I'll see what I can scare up."

*** * ***

**Quorum Meeting Recess, Colonial City State...**

"...turned you down, didn't she?" Joe Lazarius was the new Aerion delegate, and he was taking lunch with Tom Zarek.

"Yes, it was kind of a surprise for me." Tom said, "Something about still being in mourning for her husband." he gave a somewhat comical 'rueful' look.

Lazarius laughed, which didn't bring the scowl, this time. "You know, when you've got that power-plant project done, I'm probably going to try and rook her from you to help get some projects finished in our area."

"You can go ahead and _try_, Joe. I think we've got enough work in the Saggitairon sector to keep her busy for the next few years." Tom said, "Though I might put in a word for you if you consider co-sponsoring the Labour reform bill I put up this morning-she proposed _most_ of it."

"really? Now _that_ is a fascinating story, care to share?" the Gemenese delegate sat down at the table with them, "because when _I_ read it, it had a definite 'Tom Zarek' feeling to the language."

"Can I help it if the Inner Sphere industrialist's experience and knowledge match with my ideas?" Tom asked rhetorically.

"You mean your ideas from twenty-five years ago." the Gemenese pointed out, "Before you went Radical, blew up a government office, and got sent to prison for twenty years."

Tom laughed a hearty, entirely false laugh. "Some of it, yeah." he said, "It doesn't make it wrong. we all _need_ economic development, and to prevent some Colonies from being more powerful than others."

"From your lips, to the Lords of Kobol's ears." Joe agreed, "Will that reform _accomplish_ that?"

Tom shrugged, "It's a start." he said.

"You're angling to run against Roslin again, aren't you?" the Gemenese delegate prodded.

"Well...why not? We're no-longer needing a 'dying leader' to bring us to the promised land-we need a practical administration in power, why shouldn't I try bringing that about?" Tom asked.

*** * ***

**Worksite, Sagittairon sector, Colonial City State...**

"...don't care if it's _con trai của Ðức Chúa Trời mình!_" Mai Pham snarled, "it's disrupting the work, and we've a schedule to get back on. The site's not _safe_, dammit."

"The Quorum wants, the Quorum gets, Mai-they're _funding_ this." Ross pointed out, adding, "You didn't slip on your meds this morning, did you?"

"oh, shit...Ross, keep 'em busy for me, okay?" she groaned, "Yeah, I forgot my dose. I'll call Giao and have her run the pills down here."

The door to the 'head shed' opened and Sarah Porter, the delegate to the Quorum of Twelve from Gemenon walked formidably in.

"So, _you're_ the one who's got Tom all riled up." she said, looking straight at Mai. Porter set a stack of papers on the table Mai had been using to teach Ross site-management-by managing the site. "Somehow, I expected you to be taller. I'm Sarah Porter, the Gemenon Delegate, I'd like you to explain some of this to me."

_Gemenon...gemenon...what did Laird tell me about Gemenon..._ Mai's head felt...fuzzy. "What needs explaining?" she asked.

"Madame Porter, Mrs Pham's feeling a little under the weather, perhaps I can assist you instead?" Ross offered.

"no, you _can't_. If you _could_, you would have already made most of these proposals six months ago." Porter said flatly.

"Is that...a copy of the contract?" Mai asked. her joints started hurting more, and she could feel papers in her empty hands.

"No, it's Delegate Zarek's proposed economic and labour reform bill, he credits _you_ with much of it." Porter said.

"We...talked..." Mai said carefully. _not now..not now...not here..._ "The other night, I hardly had much time to consult on a piece of legisssss....."

Mai tried to twist out of the chair and land in her 'safe' position, but Gravity would not be denied, as the siezures took over her body.

Ross moved like lightning, "Pardon me, Delegate!" he hauled open a drawer on one of the file-cabinets, and came out with an injector.

"What's wrong with her?" Porter asked, watching in fascination as Mai Pham's body thrashed and vibrated.

"She's ill." Ross almost barked, "Incurable but controllable, and she forgot her medication this morning!"

He tried to get the injector on her, but the seizures were too violent. "A _hand here_?" he looked up at the Delegate.

Porter reached down, and with surprising strength, held Mai's arms as they spasmed.

Ross found her carotid artery, and the pneumatic injector hissed, driving medicine deep into the skin without threatening the walls of the artery or risking a rupture.

The seizures slowed. "I warned you, Delegate, she's not feeling well today." Ross added.

The Neuroin hit, and her muscles relaxed enough that she could regain control of them. "who told you my prescription, and how in hell did you get it without breaking a law?" Mai mumbled.

"I've got friends in high places, can you sit up?" he asked.

Mai struggled up, with help. "Ross, a civvie shouldn't have that shit unless they're a patient, or a doctor, you're neither, there's laws about possessing it..." she nodded to the injector, "That dose could kill somebody. It shouldn't be here."

"I had heard rumours." Porter commented.

"dammit, không ai giữ bí mật làm họ?" she sighed, "i should've got th' docs to sign a binding non-disclosure...then I could sue 'em..."

Mai looked up, "Okay, I'm paid for my brains, not driving a 'dozer, so what do you need help understanding?"

Ross secured the Injector, and locked the cabinet.

Porter sat down across from Mai. "Do you get visions?" she asked.

"Nope, just lots and lots of pain so far, as it progresses, I'll start hallucinating, hearing voices, My father was insane and in untreatable agony when he died. I take it that legislation's just an excuse."

at this, the Gemenese smiled and nodded. "It was. The wisdom you showed resolving the labor conflict, and your...status, your illness, frankly, are of...interest to us." she said it carefully.

Mai sighed, "I'm no oracle, Delegate, I'm just a businesswoman and a single parent, far from home, trying to make a way for my daughter by helping other people get things done-I don't have any special insights into the beyond." she pushed a sweat-soaked lock of hair out of her face, "What I've got is the result of scientists not-knowing-the-outcomes centuries ago, and it's going to kill me in a pretty horrible way, probably before I reach forty years old. There are folks in the outlier areas of Kowloon who think the seizures and the hallucinations are some kind of divine gift-theyr'e wrong. I only have common-sense to offer, and a little bit of education and experience, but those are shelf-limited, any good work or help I can give, it's got a dead-line that's truly a dead-line."

"THAT is the part that's mostly of interest to me." Porter said. Her eyes said something distinctly different...but politicians often learn the art of 'tact'.

"Okay, so let's talk business." Mai said, "What can Keeley and Blohm's consulting service do for you folks today?"

"I was going through section five of the bill..." Porter said, bringing up the papers...

* * *

_**Note from the Author:**_

_Reviews are encouraging :-)  
_


	32. Chapter 32

_I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble._

_This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, y__ou'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us_. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).

_

* * *

_

**New Circe Military Industries HQ, McEvedy City, New Circe...**

"Mister Keeley!" Brenda Hammerskjold greeted him warmly enough. "How's life working as a general contractor?"

Keeley smiled a sad smile, "Not too bad. What's Vaun want me down here for?"

"Problems with the Fjellhas." Brenda said, "You seemed the man to go-to for that."

"Engineering, or is it production?" Keeley asked.

"Production. They're having problems making parts to spec, you seemed to have gotten a handle on their labour situation." Brenda said, "Which is, if I recall, part of the whole mission when the Protector called you and Blohm out of retirement."

Keeley sighed, "I can't take credit for more than hiring the right consultant on that one-it never even _dawned_ on me that an advanced spacefaring culture wouldn't have an extensive welfare state...I mean, I'd _Heard_ of it, but I didn't really believe it..."

"Can you loan us your consultant?" Brenda asked.

"You'll have to talk price with her-Mai's our 'mercenary', she's probably going to follow family tradition and want something in return for any out-of-contract work she does." Keeley said, "She's been teaching Ross how to manage a project, but that falls under the deal I made when I hired her services." He cleared his throat, and Brenda handed him a glass of water.

"The problems are mostly on-time issues." Brenda said, "But some of it's also specifications data-we have had to re-work a lot of the components coming out to fit the chassis."

"Fjellhas is a seventy-five tonner, isn't it?" Keeley asked.

"Yep, Our energy weapons, their ballistics and missiles." Brenda said, "We've licked the software interface, but mountings, and more importantly, getting the stuff on-time is turning out to be a real pain in the ass."

"I'll offer Mai a bonus to look over the production issues on that side of the border, maybe it's something she can hat-dance around like she's done with the slowdowns in the Saggitarion sector." Keeley said, "But I think you're going to want to make an offer if you want something comprehensive-the one thing I'm certain of, is that Mai Pham's a corporate shark in a skirt-she makes _you_ look like an idealistic nun running a charity house."

"You turned someone like that on _Ross_?" Brenda asked, not offended in the slightest, "That poor man!"

"He won't be when his bonuses clear." Keeley said, "He'll be a pitiable _Rich_ man-at least, his cover identity will be-otherwise, he's just a civil servant like the rest of us."

*** * ***

**Tenner's Foundry, Leonis Sector, Colonial City State, later that day...**

"...sure you're up to this? we could wait until to-morrow..." Ross offered as the car rolled to a stop.

"Yes, I'm up to looking over the factory and seeing if I can see why they're late-are the local managers expecting me?" Mai asked.

He pointed out the side window. There was a crowd gathered around the parking area. "I'd say they're expecting _You_." Ross told her.

"Damn that woman!" Mai muttered, "Couldn't leave it be, could she?" she opened the door, and stepped out, smoothing her now-clean dark gray skirt-suit.

"Relax, it's like having an all-access pass." Ross told her, and she let him take her arm.

"All access my skinny ass. I left home because of shit like this." Mai muttered back, "Changed my name and everything."

"Be nice to the natives, Mai...you didn't forget your meds THIS morning?" he asked.

"did my shot before breakfast, and I've got supplementaries in my pocket in case I need 'em." she muttered back, "Maybe if they don't get a show, they'll go away."

The crowd parted as they walked up, and the Leonis Delegate, Elrad Hunt, flanked by Sarah Porter, waited at the entrance.

"Mister Hunt, Madame Porter..." Mai rendered a brief curtsey. "Okay, I'm getting paid a lot of money to look at your processes and figure out some solutions, let's get working."

*** * ***

**New Circe Shipyard...**

"...sure you want to do this?" Karl Agathon asked.

Maggie "Racetrack" Edmondson looked at Skulls, and then back at Colonel Agathon. "Yeah. We're sure." she said, "Someone's got to keep an eye on that giant frakking toaster, and _someone_ has to watch Kat's back as the CAG."

Karl looked at the Admiral. "Sir?"

Adama shrugged, "It's a volunteer mission, Colonel, it's part of the Joint Operations agreement, and we DO need people we can trust aboard..." he handed the signed transfers over.

"We'll keep a berthing open for you." Karl said, "Good luck."

as the Raptor crew left, Agathon looked at the Admiral, "What does that make. five?"

"Six." William Adama said. "Once I explained it in terms they understood, we had four viper pilots and those two volunteer...which is, honestly, six more than I expected and six fewer than I'd hoped for. All in all a win."

*** * ***

**Commander's Sea-Cabin, SLS Nike...**

Alan pored over the latest recruitment reports, and wondered if he shouldn't ask for permission to run press-gangs of his own...when a knock on the door got his attention.

"Nike?" he asked the air.

"Visitors." Nike said, in a tone that told him she wouldn't tell him who.

He opened the hatch.

"Louanne Katraine, Captain, Colonial Forces, reporting to duty, sir." Kat said, and held out her transfer, "If, that is, you're still looking for pilots."

"I'm looking...didn't think I'd get any of YOUR people." Alan admitted.

"I brought three more Viper pilots and a Raptor crew." Kat confided, "Not a squadron, but we all volunteered, we're here, and we're ready to start."

"You checked out on a _Kirghiz_ yet?" Alan asked.

Kat, reached out, and pointed at a section of the documents, "This morning, signed off by the air-boss of the SLS _Olympia_."

"Captain in Colonial means leutenant-senior-grade here, you're going to want to adjust the terms on your signature." Alan said.

"Fine with me." Kat said, "I'll make the other pilots aware. When are we running training ops? I know you've been running your knuckledraggers and marines through 'em for days now."

"When are you ready?" Alan asked, reaching for his own flight-suit.

"We can get our stuff stowed and be on the deck in ten minutes." Kat told him.

"Eleven minutes be out in formation in your birds off the starboard bow, we'll do some flight ops and deck-ops, scrambles and drills." He said.

She saluted him, he returned it.

_nine is better than the three we HAD..._ "Nike, I'm going out for a drive."

*** * ***

**Airspace over the Carcajou continent, New Circe, L-7 Days...**

Gibson explained what their first outing would be when Nike launched, and Kat wrote a training operations plan for it.

Consequently, they were practicing sattelite deployment, combat-aerospace-patrols, and dropship escort with ships from the Second Battlegroup.

"Nike, what do you see?" Kat asked.

"Hostiles inbound solar north twelve degrees by ten mils west, range half an AU."

"Alright people, Formation Echo, cover those dropships!" Kat barked.

The OpFor was being provided by SLS _Olympia_ with borrowed Vipers from _Pegasus_ to simulate Raiders.

_Monitor room, New Circe shipyard..._

Alan watched his pilots at play, stuck where he was by his position.

"So...you gonna do it?" Nike asked, appearing on a holostage in her 'visitor's' face.

Alan watched them, and he listened to Kat urging and chiding her pilots.

"Yeah. Katraine's a good pilot, and she's got a strong grasp of the CAG job." he said, "Not as good as _me_, but better than Federov, and he was my original pick for the position...the only possible change to _that_ is how she deals with _you._"

"She actually coordinates with me." Nike said, "She also listens, and she adjusts to when I 'make a mistake', I think she'll just about do."

*** * ***

**Tenner Foundry...**

Mai stood on the catwalk, and _stared._ "You have got to be bullshitting me." she said, "_Hand work?_"

"We've added significant automation from the New Circe establishment..." the Plant manager, Dero Heroditus said.

"No, you've got what looks like a shipboard machine-shop, sufficient to effect minor repairs, and a bunch of hand-tools." Mai corrected him, "This isn't your industrial _standard_, is it?"

"Even the City-State runs a lot of hand-work, we've got some heavy industrial but-" Ross interjected.

"But bullshit. này không phải là một nhà máy sản xuất, đó là một hội thảo!" She rounded on the Colonial officials, and Ross.

"Ross, take a note, we're going to be presenting the New Circe government with something more substantial than...." she gestured at the floor, "THIS."

"What did she say?" Elrad Hunt asked.

"I'm not..sure..." Porter replied, sotto-voce.

"I said it's ****** primitive and totally un-acceptable." Mai clarified, "You can't run an industrial base off of ten milling machines and a dozen two-meter lathes." she pointed down onto the floor, "THIS gets fixed. I know where _proper_ equipment can be had, and I can get it at _cost_, but it's going to need government assistance to get through the red-tape."

Ross stared at her open mouthed. Mai _snarled_ "Close your mouth, Mister Ross, remember, I'm a _Ngo_, my family is the largest industrial toolmaker in the Inner Sphere bar _none_, we've even sold equipment to the _Terrans_ in the past. this home-workshop shit is _utterly and completely_ unacceptable for _any_ nation's needs."

Ross cleared his throat, "THAT would require you returning to the Inner Sphere, I don't think-"

"That's right, you, and the Governments on New Circe don't _think._" Mai managed to _loom_ over the larger man, "You have my little girl-the only child I will _ever_ have for a hostage to guarantee my cooperation. It's an arrangement that's NOT unusual in the Inner Sphere."

She pointed again at the factory floor, "THIS kind of setup kills workmen, and produces a tiny number of acceptable goods for a large amount of waste and inefficiency. So, either New Circe Defense Industries brings in some _real_ tooling for these folks, or we go _get_ the tools they need."

Ross recovered himself, "What would YOU get out of not-stabbing us in the back?" he countered, "You weren't exactly _happy_ about the situation."

"Simple, Ross, simple enough even YOU can get it." Mai growled, "Market Share-the Colonial City State and New Circe are a strong potential growth-market with good fundamentals-_if _they're cultivated. One-hundered-percent of a branch office in a growth market, is better than five percent in a fixed trust fund...and then, there's also the presence of a rule-of-law here, which makes this a safer haven, and guarantees a certain...exclusivity."

Elrad _got it_, "WE are a gold mine, and YOU don't want to share it." he said.

"Right in one, Mister delegate." Mai said, "A set of investments now, and in ten years, the people on the ground floor of it are going to be fantastically rich, and the folks working here will be damn well off. It's one thing to be rich when everyone is poor, it's another scale of wealthy when you're wealthy compared to a general lifestyle you, yourself, only dreamed of in fantasies that made you feel guilty for thinking them." she sighed, "BUT, only if there's a means to get the exchange going. You don't have enough 'core tools' to simultanously build your industrial base up, while also filling orders for weapons and equipment that you _must_ fill to keep your population fed."

* * *

**_Note from the Author:_**

_Reviews are always appreciated _:-)


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